North stood near the center, plying his gaff with difficulty, but Donald was on the extreme edge. Moreover, the distance was twice as great as it had been at the first, and the waves were running high, and it was dark.
They made way slowly, and 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 desperately 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.
“Iss, zur.”
“Can you reach the ice alone?”
“Iss, zur,” 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.