oiled up
the rope to throw.

"Thou mun heave it over his head, my lad. Don't go no nigher to him; it
isn't safe."

He threw the rope, and Dick caught the end and recoiled it preparatory
to making a start over the moss.

"Nay, nay, stop!" shouted Hickathrift.

"I must go and try if I can't put it round him, Hicky," cried Dick.

"Come back, thou'lt drownd thysen," shouted Dave excitedly.

"No, I won't," said Dick; and picking his steps with the greatest care,
he succeeded in stepping within ten yards of the donkey, which made a
desperate struggle now to get out and reach him, but without success;
all he did was to change his position, his hind-quarters going down
lower, while his fore-legs struck out into the daylight once or twice in
his hard fight for liberty.

"Now, my lad, heave the rope over his head, and we'll haul him out,"
cried Hickathrift.

But Dick paid no heed. He saw in imagination the poor animal strangled
by the noose; and with the idea that he could somehow get alongside, he
struck out to the left, but had to give up, for the bog was more fluid
there.

On the other side it was even worse, and Dick was about to turn and
shout to the men to try if they could not get the punt up alongside,
when a fresh struggle from Solomon plainly showed him that the animal
must be rescued at once or all would be over.

Dick made one more trial to get nearer, in spite of the cries and
adjurations of those upon the firmer ground; but it was useless, and
struggling to a tuft of dry reed, he balanced himself there and gathered
up the rope, so as to try and throw the loop over the donkey's head.

As he held it ready there was another miserable bray, and the lad
hesitated.

"It means killing him," he muttered. "Poor old Solomon! I never liked
him, but we've had so many runs together."

His hand dropped to his side with the rope, and he tottered, for the
reed tuft seemed to be sinking.

Solomon brayed again and fought desperately to free himself, but sank
lower.

"Heave, Dick, heave!" shouted Tom.

"Throw it over, my lad! throw it over, or thou'lt be too late!" cried
the wheelwright; but Dick did not move. His eyes were fixed upon the
donkey's head, but his thoughts were far back in the past, in sunny days
when he had been riding by the edge of the fen to the town, or down to
the firm sand by the sea, where Solomon always managed to throw him and
then gallop off. Then there were the wintry times, when t