St. Vincent, at the rear of the extended line, was the first to go through, but he fell with the pole thrust deftly across the opening and resting on the ice. His head did not go under, though the current sucked powerfully, and the two men dragged him out after a sharp pull. Frona saw them consult together for a minute, with much pointing and gesticulating on the part of the baron, and then St. Vincent detach himself and turn shoreward. "Br-r-r-r," he shivered, coming up the bank to her. "It's impossible." "But why didn't they come in?" she asked, a slight note of displeasure manifest in her voice. "Said they were going to make one more try, first. That Courbertin is hot-headed, you know." "And my father just as bull-headed," she smiled. "But hadn't you better change? There are spare things in the tent." "Oh, no." He threw himself down beside her. "It's warm in the sun." For an hour they watched the two men, who had become mere specks of black in the distance; for they had managed to gain the middle of the river and at the same time had worked nearly a mile up-stream. Frona followed them closely with the glasses, though often they were lost to sight behind the ice-ridges. "It was unfair of them," she heard St. Vincent complain, "to say they were only going to have one more try. Otherwise I should not have turned back. Yet they can't make it--absolutely impossible." "Yes . . . No . . . Yes! They're turning back," she announced. "But listen! What is that?" A hoarse rumble, like distant thunder, rose from the midst of the ice. She sprang to her feet. "Gregory, the river can't be breaking!" "No, no; surely not. See, it is gone." The noise which had come from above had died away downstream. "But there! There!" Another rumble, hoarser and more ominous than before, lifted itself and hushed the robins and the squirrels. When abreast of them, it sounded like a railroad train on a distant trestle. A third rumble, which approached a roar and was of greater duration, began from above and passed by. "Oh, why don't they hurry!" The two specks had stopped, evidently in conversation. She ran the glasses hastily up and down the river. Though another roar had risen, she could make out no commotion. The ice lay still and motionless. The robins resumed their singing, and the squirrels were chattering with spiteful glee. "Don't fear, Frona." St. Vincent put his arm about her protectingly. "If there is any danger, they know it better than we, and they are taking their time." "I never saw a big river break up," she confessed, and resigned herself to the waiting. The roars rose and fell sporadically, but there were no other signs of disruption, and gradually the two men, with frequent duckings, worked inshore. The water was streaming from them and they were shivering severely as they came up the bank. "At last!" Frona had both her father's hands in hers. "I thought you would never come back."