"Billy who?" said Mary Bell; but her heart told her, before
Henderson said it, that the answer would be, "Jim Carr's kid
brother!"

"Are you good for this?" said Henderson, when the four fittest had
reached that part of the marsh where the boys had been found.

She met his look courageously, his lantern showing her wet, brave
young face, crossed by dripping strands of hair.

"Sure!" she said.

"Well, God bless you!" he said; "God--bless--you! You take this
fence, I'll go over to that 'n."

The rushing, noisy darkness again. The horrible wind, the slipping,
the plunging again. Again the slow, slow progress; driven and
whipped now by the thought that at this very instant--or this one--
the boys might be giving out, relaxing hold, abandoning hope, and
slipping numb and unconscious into the rising, chuckling water.

Mary Bell did not think of the dance now. But she thought of rest;
of rest in the warm safety of her own home. She thought of the sunny
dooryard, the delicious security of the big kitchen; of her mother,
so placid and so infinitely dear, on her couch; of the serene
comings and goings of neighbors and friends. How wonderful it all
seemed! Lights, laughter, peace,--just to be back among them again,
and to rest!

And she was going away from it all, into the blackness. Her lantern