A moment later the searchers plunged into the marsh, facing bravely
away from lights and voices and solid earth.

Stumbling and slipping, Mary Bell followed the fence. The rain
slapped her face, and her rubber boots dragged in the shallow water.
But she thought only of five little boys losing hope and courage
somewhere in this confusing waste, and her constant shouting was
full of reassurance.

"Nobody would be scared with this fence to hang on to!" she assured
herself, "no matter how fast the tide came in!" She rested a moment
on the rail, glancing back at the distant fire, now only a dull
glow, low against the sky.

Frequently the rail was broken, and dipped treacherously for a few
feet; once it was lacking entirely, and for an awful ten feet she
must bridge the darkness without its help. She stood still, turning
her guttering lantern on waving grasses and sinister pools. "They
are all dancing now!" she said aloud, wonderingly, when she had
reached the opposite rail, with a fast-beating heart. After an
endless period of plunging and shouting, she was at the water's very
edge.

There was light enough to see the ruffled, cruel surface of the
river, where its sluggish forces swept into the bay. Idly bumping
the grasses was something that brought Mary Bell's heart into her
throat. Then she cried out in relief, for it was not the thing she
feared, but the little deserted boat, right side up.