a thin, miserable-looking, dripping youth, no older than Tom, and
with wild, burning eyes looking out of his wet and pallid face. Had
it not been for Ruth and Tom he must have fallen back into the stream
again, he was so weak.

They dragged him ashore, and he fell down, shaking and chattering,
on the edge of the creek. He was none too warmly dressed at the best;
the water now fast congealed upon his clothing. His garments would
soon be as stiff as boards.

"We've got to get him to the Mill, girls," declared Tom. "Come! get
up!" he cried to the stranger. "You must get warmed and have dry
clothing."

"And something hot to drink," said Ruth. "Aunt Alviry will make him
something that will take the cold out of his bones."

The strange boy stared at them, unable, it seemed, to speak a word.
They dragged him upright and pushed him on between them. The bull had
run towards the river and had not come back; so the friends, with
their strange find, hurried on to the public road and crossed the
bridge at the creek, turning off into the orchard path that led up to
the Red Mill.

"What's your name?" demanded Tom of the strange boy.

But all the latter could do was to chatter and shake his head. The
icy water had bitten into his very bones. They fairly dragged him
between them for the last few yards, and burst into Aunt Alvirah's
kitchen in a manner "fit to throw one into a conniption!" as that