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inge of alders grew so thick, that he was scarce aware that he was at his destination, until the precipice opened beneath him. Here he stood, and, pressing apart the dense branches, he looked out. There was the steamer, about two miles off, already below where he was standing, and going rapidly down the bay with the falling tide. Another cry of grief burst from Tom. Where he was standing he could see the vessel, but he himself was completely concealed by the clustering bushes. He now lamented that he had left his first position, and saw that his only chance was to have remained there. To stay where he was could not be thought of. There was scarce a chance now of doing anything, since the steamer was so far away; but what chance there was certainly depended on his being in some conspicuous position. He started off, therefore, to the west point, where he had watched the schooner for so long a time. He hurried on with undiminished energy, and bounded over windfalls, and burst through thickets, as before. But in spite of his efforts, his progress could not be more rapid than it had formerly been. His route was necessarily circuitous, and before he could find the desired point, many more minutes had elapsed. But he reached it at last, and there, on the bare rock, springing forward, he waved his hat in the air, and sent forth a piercing cry for help. But the steamer was now as much as four or five miles away--too far altogether for his loudest cry to go. His screams and his gestures did not appear to attract the slightest attention. She moved on her way right under the eyes of the frantic and despairing boy, nor did she change her course in the slightest degree, nor did her paddles cease to revolve, but went rolling round, tossing up the foam, and bearing far, far away that boat on which poor Tom had rested his last hope. As for Tom, he kept up his screams as long as he could utter a sound. He tore off his coat, and shook it up and down, and waved it backward and forward. But none of these things were heard or seen. The steamboat passed on, until, at length, even Tom became convinced that further efforts were useless. This last blow was too much. Tom sank under it, and, falling on his face, he burst into a flood of tears. Struggling up at length from this last affliction, Tom roused himself, and his buoyancy of soul began once more to assert itself. "Come now, Thomas, my son," said he, as he drie
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