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“They ain’t ever coming!” sobbed Davy, hopelessly. “I can’t go no farther!”

Mary Bell managed, by leaning forward, to give him a wet slap, full in the face. The blow roused the little fellow, and he bravely stumbled ahead again.

“That’s a darling, Davy!” she shouted. A second later something floating struck her elbow; a boy’s rubber boot. It was perhaps the most dreadful moment of the long fight, when she realized that they were only where they had started from.

Later she heard herself urging Davy to take just ten steps more,–just another ten. “Just think, five minutes more and we’re safe, Davy!” some one said. Later, she heard her own voice saying, “Well, if you can’t, then hang on the fence! DON’T let go the fence!” Then there was silence. Long after, Mary Bell began to cry, and said softly, “God, God, you know I could do this if I weren’t carrying Billy.” After that it was all a troubled dream.

She dreamed that Davy suddenly said, “I can see the fire!” and that, as she did not stir, he cried it again, this time not so near. She dreamed that the sound of splashing boots and shouting came down across the dark water, and that lights smote her eyelids with sharp pain. An overwhelming dread of effort swept over her. She did not want to move her aching body, to raise her heavy head. Somebody’s arm braced her shoulders; she toppled against it.

She dreamed that Jim Carr’s voice said, “Take the kid, Sing! He’s all right!” and that Jim Carr lifted her up, and shouted out, “She’s almost gone!”

Then some one was carrying her across rough ground, across smooth ground, to where there was a fire, and blankets, and voices–voices–voices.

“It makes me choke!” That was Mary Bell Barber, whispering to Jim Carr. But she could not open her eyes.

“But drink it, dearest! Swallow it!” he pleaded.

“You were too late, Jim, we couldn’t hold on!” she whispered pitifully. And then, as the warmth and the stimulant had their effect, she did open her eyes; and the fire, the ring of faces, the black sky, and the moon breaking through, all slipped into place.

“Did you come for us, Jim?” she murmured, too tired to wonder why the big fellow should cry as he put his face against hers.

“I came for you, dear! I came back to sit with you on the steps. I didn’t want to dance without my girl, and that’s why I’m here. My brave little girl!”

Mary Bell leaned against his shoulder contentedly.

“That’s right; you rest!” said Jim. “We’re all going home now, and we’ll have you tucked away in bed in no time. Mrs. Bates is all ready for you!”

“Jim,” whispered Mary Bell.

“Darling?”–he put his mouth close to the white lips.

“Jim, will you remind Aunty Bates to hang up my party dress real carefully? In all the fuss some one’s sure to muss it!” said Mary Bell.