"I will, Buck! What shall I do?" stuttered he.
"Lie down on the platform so that you can reach the girl."
He obeyed, and held out his great paws towards my helpless burden. I raised her up a little, and he grasped her under the arms. He was as strong as an ox; and raising her a little way, he turned over, and then lifted her clear from the water, but dragging her up as roughly as though she had been a log of wood. I needed no help myself, and was on the raft almost as soon as the girl. She was utterly exhausted, and unable to hold up her head. Sim and I carried her into the house. We laid her in Sim's bunk, and Flora was as tender with her as though she had been a baby.
"Hookie!" exclaimed Sim, staring at the sufferer, with his mouth open wide enough to take in a canal boat. "Is she dead?"
"No—not dead!" replied Flora, as she lifted the wet locks from her face, and gently rubbed her temples. "What shall we do for her, Buckland?"
"She is chilled with the cold, and worn out with fear and exertion."
"I shall be better soon," said the girl, faintly. "I feel better now. Let me rest a moment."
"Give her some hot tea," suggested Flora.
The tea-pot was on the stove, and I prepared a cup of tea for her. She drank it, and the effect was good.
"I feel better; but I am so cold!" said she.