Donald took his gaff—a long pole of the light, tough dogwood, two inches thick and shod with iron—and set out. It was growing dark, and the wind, rising still, was blowing in strong, cold gusts. It began to snow while he was yet on the ice of the harbor, half a mile away from the pans and clumpers which the wind of the day before had crowded against the coast. When he came to the “standing ice,”—the stationary rim of ice which is frozen to the coast,—the wind was thickly charged with snow. What with dusk and snow, he found it hard to keep to the right way. But he was not afraid for himself; his only fear was that the wind would sweep the ice-pack out to sea before his father reached the “standing edge.” In that event, as he knew, Job North would be doomed. Donald went out on the standing edge. Beyond lay a widening gap of water. The pack had already begun to move out. There was no sign of Job North’s party. The lad ran up and down, hallooing as he ran; but for a time there was no answer to his call. Then it seemed to him he heard a despairing hail, sounding far to the right, whence he had come. Night had almost fallen, and the snow added to its depth; but as he ran back, Donald could still see across the gap of water to that great pan of ice, which, of all the pack, was nearest to the standing edge. He perceived that the gap had considerably widened since he had first observed it. “Is that you, father?” he called. “Iss, Donald!” came an answering hail from directly opposite. “Is there a small pan of ice on your side?” Donald searched up and down the edge for a detached cake large enough for his purpose. Near at hand he came upon a thin, small pan, not more than six feet square. “Haste, b’y!” cried his father. “They’s one here,” he called back, “but ’tis too small! Is there none there?” “No, b’y! Fetch that over!” Here was a desperate need. If the lad was to meet it, he must act instantly and fearlessly. He stepped out on the pan, and pushed off with his gaff. Using his gaff as a paddle—as these gaffs are constantly used in ferrying by the Newfoundland fishermen—and helped by the wind, he soon ferried himself to where Job North stood waiting with his companions. “’Tis too small,” said Stevens. “’Twill not hold two.” North looked dubiously at the pan. Alexander Bludd shook his head in despair. “Get back while you can, b’y,” said North. “Quick! We’re driftin’ fast. The pan’s too small.” “I think ’tis big enough for one man and me,” said Donald. “Get aboard and try it, Alexander,” said Job. Alexander Bludd stepped on. The pan tipped fearfully, and the water ran over it; but when the weight of the man and the boy was properly adjusted, it seemed capable of bearing them both across. They pushed off.