"Will, dear lad," said the artist, at last, "we are good old friends. Trust and believe in me. I'll save your father if I can. If I don't, it is because I can't, and I've gone too. Promise me you'll hold on there till I come back, or some of your friends come down. They must know how we are fixed. Will you do what I say? I am speaking as your father would. Hold on where you are." "Would he say that?" gasped Will, faintly. "He would, I vow." Will bowed his head, and the next moment he was clinging there, to the clean-washed roots of the uptorn tree, watching the heads of father and friend being rapidly swept-down the stream, while the waters were surging higher and higher about his breast, for the depression was being filled rapidly by the undammed stream. "To be alone like this!" groaned Will. "Why didn't I swim with them and try to help?" He spoke aloud, his words sounding like a long-drawn moan; and then he started, for an echo seemed to come from close at hand, heard plainly above the rushing of the stream. His next thought was that it was fancy, but, as the idea flitted through his brain in silence, there was the moan again from somewhere at the back. It was the faint cry of someone in grievous peril, and it drove out self from the generous boy's breast. Someone wanted help, and he was strong and hearty still. It took but little time to find out whence the deep-toned moaning came. It was from out of a jagged mass of broken timbers, whose ends were anchored among the stones, and through them the rising waters were rushing fast. It was like turning from a great peril into dangers greater far, but the boy never thought of that. He measured the distance with his eyes, and came to the conclusion that he could pass hand by hand through the waters, among the roots, till he was straight above the swaying timbers. To swim would be impossible, he knew; but he felt that he could let himself go, be carried those few yards, catch at one or other of the timbers, and hold on there. As he finished thinking, he drew a deep breath, felt stronger than ever, and began to act. Reaching out with his right hand, he got a grip of the nearest root, let go with his left, and in an instant, he felt as if the water had seized him, and was trying to tear his right arm out of the socket. The jerk was numbing, but he got a grip with his left hand, and tried again and again, till he lay on his back, his arms outstretched above his head, his feet pointing straight at the chaos of timbers, took another deep breath, and then let go.