"And now, Margaret," said Aladdin, "you must stay right here'
n' not go 'way from the shore, so's I can find you when I come
back. But don't just sit still all the time,--keep moving,
so's not to get any colder,--'n I'll come back for you sure."

Then, because he felt his courage failing, he said, "Good-by,
Marg'ret," and turning abruptly, waded in to his ankles and
bent over the log to give it that final impetus which was to
set it adrift. In his heart were several things: the desire
to make good, fear of the river, and, poignant and bitter, the
feeling that Margaret did not understand. He was too young to
believe that death might really be near him (almost reckless
enough not to care if he had), but keenly aware that his
undertaking was perilous enough to warrant a more adequate
farewell. So he bent bitterly over the log and stiffened his
back for the heave. It must be owned that Aladdin wanted more
of a scene.

"'Laddin, I forgot something. Come back."

He came, his white lips drawn into a sort of smile. Then they
kissed each other on the mouth with the loud, innocent kiss of
little children, and after that Aladdin felt that the river
was only a river, the cold only cold, the danger only danger
and flowers--more than flowers.

He moved the log easily and waded with it into the icy waters,
until his feet were dragged from the bottom, and after one
awful instant of total submersion the stanch little ship Good