She reached the edge of the quagmire as quick as Ambrose. Had the boy been more of an athlete he could have hurled the baby from him without first pausing to get his breath but he was fat and clumsy. Mollie was fleet and agile as a wild-cat. And like a wild-cat she sprang upon him, at the risk of precipitating all three of them into the bog. She never spoke. She fought, just as she had in the long ago days when she had fought the ogre single handed in her attempt to save Stephen. She clung to Ambrose's arms as she had clung to the ogre's legs. She pulled that precious baby from him and, with the child in her arms, fought to save herself from the fate from which she had just rescued the baby. If she went, the baby would go with her. Ambrose's fat, bulky form effectually blocked her way. He stood between her and safety. One step backward and she would be in the clutches of that sinister mass from which there was no escape. "Oh, dear God, help me," she moaned, half aloud, as she struggled on the very brink of death to retain her footing and fight off this young fiend. Just beyond Ambrose stood the huddled, frightened children, round-eyed, trembling, not daring to utter a sound nor raise a hand to help Mollie. With her right hand she struck Ambrose back. She had not known she possessed so much strength. How did it happen? Ambrose lurched slightly to the left. He lost his balance and clutched at Mollie to save himself. In that instant she whirled about. The movement was unexpected and brought Ambrose himself to the edge of the mire. Simultaneously they pulled, each seeking to break the other's hold. Mollie won. She had fought with one hand, she held the baby with the other, but she had won! The suddenness with which she broke away from Ambrose sent him plunging backwards into the bog. His frantic cries and now howls rent the air. Mollie, dazed and breathless, stood for a moment gasping and horrified. The children voiced their glee. They thought it was the result for which Mollie had been fighting. The sound of their voices awakened her to a sense of her surroundings and the result of all of them if anything happened to Ambrose. He must be pulled out. But how? She looked wildly about for a rope, a stick, anything long enough to reach him. There was nothing in sight. Placing Doris with the other children, Mollie sped to the barn and procured a heavy rope. When she returned, Ambrose was engulfed to the waist. He was still howling. Maria, in the house, was too accustomed to the sound to be disturbed by it. Peter had gone out the big gate. For this Mollie was thankful. "Hold yore hands up high," she called to Ambrose, "an' ketch this rope 'fore hit falls in th' mud." The boy was in mud almost to the arm-pits now. Every second was precious if he was to be saved.