It was an unlucky action. The whole bridge suddenly collapsed under him,
and down went Tom with it into the rushing water, which whirled him
along toward a jam of ice and drift stuff twenty or thirty yards below.
By flinging his arms across one of those great cakes of hard-frozen snow
he managed to keep his head up; and he shouted lustily for us to help
him. He bumped against the jam and hung there, fighting with both arms
to keep from being carried under it.
Addison, who had the axe, ran down the bank and with a few strokes cut a
moosewood sapling, which we thrust out to Tom. He caught hold of it, and
then, by pulling hard, we hauled him to the bank and helped him out.
Oh, but wasn't he a wet boy, and didn't his teeth chatter! In fact, all
three of us were wet, for, in our excitement, Addison and I had gone in
knee-deep, and the water had splashed over us. In that bitter cold wind
we felt it keenly. Tom was nearly torpid; he seemed unable to speak, and
we could hardly make him take a step. His face and hands were blue.
"What shall we do with him?" Addison whispered to me in alarm. "It's
five miles home. I'm afraid he'll freeze.
Pages:
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132