Tommy himself.

He came at last to the heap of metal, and there lay Tommy, caught in
its skeleton protrusions. A shiver went through him when he saw the
pallid face, and the dark streak of blood across it. He concluded that
in trying to get over the wall he had failed and fallen back. He
climbed and took him in his arms. Tommy was no weight for Clare, weak
with hunger as he was, to carry to the smithy. He laid him on the
hearth, near the fire, and began to blow it up. The roaring of the
wind in the fire did not wake him. Clare went on blowing. The heat
rose and rose, and brought the boy to himself at last, in no
comfortable condition. He opened his eyes, scrambled to his feet, and
stared wildly around him.

"Where is it?" he cried.

"Where's what?" rejoined Clare, leaving the bellows, and taking a hold
of him lest he should fall off.

"The head that flew out of the water-but," answered Tommy with a
shudder.

"Have you lost your senses, Tommy?" remonstrated Clare. "I found you
lying on a heap of old iron against the wall, with the moon shining on
you."

"Yes, yes!--the moon! She jumped out of the water-but, and got a hold
of me as I was getting down. I knew she would!"

"I didn't think you were such a fool, Tommy!" said Clare.