"Hallo, there!" shouted Mr. Griggs, the toll-gatherer, appearing at the door of his small house with both arms above his head. "Children, children, stop! Don't you come anigh the bridge for your lives!"
"Oh, it's going off! its going off!" cried the five Lymans in concert.
They forgot to admire any longer the magnificent sight. The ice might be glorious in its beauty; but, alas, it was terrible in its strength!
How could they get home? That was the question. They could see their father's house in the distance; but how and when were they to reach it? It might as well have been up in the moon.
"They can't come after us," wailed Mary, wringing her hands; "'twill be days and days before they can put a boat into this river."
"What shall we do?" groaned Moses; "we can't sleep on the ground."
"With nothing to eat," added George, who remembered the brick-red Indian pudding they were to have had for dinner.
"Don't be scared, children; go ahead," said Dr. Hilton, from the bank.
"What! Would you have 'em risk their lives?" said the timid toll-gatherer. "Look at them blocks crowding up against the piers! Hear what a thunder they make! And the logs swimming down in booms! You step into our house, children, and my wife and the neighbors, we'll contrive to stow you away somewheres."
Crowds of people were collecting on the bank watching the ice go out.