It was a hard tug: I shuddered to see him wade knee-deep in the
stream--but he succeeded. Both gentlemen leaped safe on shore. The
younger tried desperately to save his boat, but it was too late.
Already the "water-boar" had clutched it--the rope broke like a
gossamer-thread--the trim, white sail was dragged down--rose up once,
broken and torn, like a butterfly caught in a mill-stream--then
disappeared.

"So it's all over with her, poor thing!"

"Who cares?--We might have lost our lives," sharply said the other,
an older and sickly-looking gentleman, dressed in mourning, to whom
life did not seem a particularly pleasant thing, though he appeared
to value it so highly.

They both scrambled up the Mythe, without noticing John Halifax:
then the elder turned.

"But who pulled us ashore? Was it you, my young friend?"

John Halifax, emptying his soaked boots, answered, "I suppose so."

"Indeed, we owe you much."

"Not more than a crown will pay," said young Brithwood, gruffly; "I
know him, Cousin March. He works in Fletcher the Quaker's tan-yard."

"Nonsense!" cried Mr. March, who had stood looking at the boy with a
kindly, even half-sad air. "Impossible! Young man, will you tell me