His cry, as he broke through, was heard by every one on the pond.

"He'll be drowned!" wailed Meg. "Oh, Bobby, hurry!"

"He can't drown in that water. It isn't deep," said a man, skating
past them and stopping to, reassure Meg. "Come on, youngster, you and
I can get him out."

Bobby put his hand into that of the stranger and was pulled along
rapidly toward the spot where the howling Twaddles stood in icy water
up to his knees.




CHAPTER IX

A NEW KIND OF JAM

As the man said, there was no danger that Twaddles would be drowned.
Cold and wet and miserable, he certainly was, but the stranger rescued
him easily, stretching out a long, thin arm across the ice and lifting
the boy bodily out of the water, over the thin ice, and on to thick,
firm foothold.

"There, there, you're just as good as ever," he assured the shivering
Twaddles. "You want to run home as fast as you can go and get into dry
shoes and stockings, and then you won't ever know you fell into the
pond. Scoot, now!"