On they went, fearful every instant that they would be in like predicament. “There’s no use,” said Jimmie. “If we only had a rope!” “Well, we haven’t, and he can’t hold out till we get one.” At that very second Finch lost his hold again and for the second time slipped beneath the icy waters of the Pond. He came up in a moment, splashing again. “Help, help!” he called despairingly. “All right—hold out—we’re coming.” They had got the plank well out now toward the struggling boy. “Hold out, Jake—We’ll get it to you.” Inch by inch they got it nearer. But Finch was becoming exhausted. “He can’t do it!” cried Jimmie. “Oh, God help us! What shall we do? What shall we do?” “Look here,” said Tony. “I am going in after him if he goes down again. Keep the plank out and I can get hold of it, and hang on, maybe, till you get back with help. Yell for Ned to stay and help here, if he can. Then run to the farmhouse and get a rope. And for God’s sake, go quick, Jim.” “Tony! don’t—you can’t!” “I’ve got to. Hold on, Jake,” he cried again. The end of the plank was at the edge of the hole. Finch clutched at it, but his strength was gone. “I can’t,” he cried feebly, and sank again. “Do as I told you, now,” said Tony. He ripped off his coat and shoes and was sliding forward. As he neared the hole, suddenly the ice crushed beneath his weight, and he sank into the bitter depths. In a second he was at the surface, and striking out boldly to the spot where Finch had gone down. He dived once, got hold of Finch’s body, clasped it, and with terrible effort got to the surface again. Jimmie had pushed the plank almost within his reach. He clasped it tightly, and managed by its aid to keep his own and Finch’s head above water. Finch seemed lifeless. “A rope, a rope,” called Tony. Lawrence was already crawling back to the shore, where Clavering, who had heard the commotion, had run down to meet him. “Finch fell in—Tony’s gone in after him, and he’s got him, and’s clinging to a plank. Do what you can. I’m off for a rope at the Red Farmhouse.” Clavering took in the situation at a glance. And as Lawrence began to start across the marsh, he began to haul a heavier plank out on the ice, calling out encouragement to Tony as he did so. Jimmie ran like the wind, and at last reached the farmhouse on the edge of the marshes. “A rope, a rope,” he cried, to the astonished farmer into whose kitchen he had burst. “There’s two boys drowning in the Pond.” In ten minutes Jimmie, the farmer and his son, were back at the edge of the Pond, with a stout rope which had a noose at the end. “Hurry up!” called Clavering, “he’s holding out.” [Illustration: WITH TERRIBLE EFFORT HE GOT TO THE SURFACE AGAIN]