glimmered,--went out. Mary Bell's cramped fingers let it fall. Her
heart pounded with fear of the inky dark.

She clung to the fence with both arms, panting, resting. And while
she hung there, through rain and wind, across darkness and space,
she heard a voice, a gallant, sturdy little voice, desperately
calling,--

"Jim! Ji-i-m!"

Like an electric current, strength surged through Mary Bell.

"O God! You've saved 'em, you've got 'em safe!" she sobbed, plunging
frantically forward. And she shouted, "All right--all right,
darling! Hang on, boys! Just HANG ON! Hal-lo, there! Billy! Davy!
Here I am!"

Down in pools, up again, laughing, crying, shouting, Mary Bell
reached them at last, felt the heavenly grasp of hard little hands
reaching for hers in the dark, brushed her face against Billy Carr's
wet little cheek, and flung her arm about Davy Henderson's square
shoulders. They had been shouting and calling for two long hours,
not ten feet from the fence.

Incoherent, laughing and crying, they clung together. Davy was alert
and brave, but the smaller boy was heavy with sleep.

"Gee, it's good you came!" said Davy, simply, over and over.

"You've got your boots on!" she shouted, close to his ear; "they're