“Look out!” screamed Fisher. “You’re adrift! Catch the branch!”
And he pointed wildly to the branch of an ash which straggled out over the water just above the fall.
Rollitt took in the situation at last. He cast a regretful glance at the fish as it gave its last victorious leap and vanished. Then, standing on the gunwale and measuring his distance from the tree, he jumped. For a moment Fisher minor thought he had missed; for the branch yielded and went under with his weight. But in a moment, just as the boat with a swoop plunged over the fall, he rose, clutching securely and hauling himself inch by inch out of the torrent. To Fisher, who watched breathlessly, it seemed as if every moment the branch would snap and send the senior back to his fate. But it held out bravely and supported him as he gradually drew himself up and finally perched high and dry above the water.
Fisher minor’s difficulties now began. Having seen his man safe he would have liked to run away; for he was not at all sure how Rollitt would take it. Besides, he wouldn’t much care to be seen by fellows like Wally or D’Arcy walking back in his company to Fellsgarth. On the other hand, it seemed rather low to desert a fellow just when he was half-drowned and might be hurt. What had he better do? Rollitt decided for him.
He came along the bough to where the boy stood, and dropped to the ground in front of him.
“Thanks,” he said, and held out his hand.
Fisher was horribly alarmed. The tone in which the word was spoken was very like that which Giant Blunderbore may have used when dinner was announced. However, he summoned up courage to hold out his hand, and was surprised to find how gently Rollitt grasped it.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you with the stones,” he said.
“You didn’t. Come and look for the boat, Fisher minor.”
“He knows my name then,” soliloquised the minor, beginning to recover a little from his panic. “I hope nobody will see me.”