They made way slowly. The pan often wavered beneath them; but Donald was intent upon the thing he was doing, and he was not afraid. Then came the time––they were but ten yards off the standing edge––when North struck his gaff too deep into the water. He lost his balance, struggled to regain it, failed––and fell off. Before Donald was awake to the danger, the edge of the pan sank under him, and he, too, toppled off.
Donald had learned to swim now. When he came to the surface, his father was breast-high in the water, looking for him.
“Are you all right, Donald?” said his father.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you reach the ice alone?”
“Yes, sir,” said Donald, quietly.
Alexander Bludd and Bill Stevens helped them up on the standing edge, and they were home by the kitchen fire in half an hour.
“’Twas bravely done, b’y,” said Job.
So Donald North learned that perils feared 68 are much more terrible than perils faced. He had a courage of the finest kind, in the following days of adventure, now close upon him, had young Donald.