ome one
ashore. Jump in, quick!"

The boys hesitated, and went into the water in a gingerly way, but did
very well, the plunge once taken, and Jack apportioned to each of them
his burden. The procession waded off boisterously but shudderingly. As
for Jack himself, he got one youngster clinging about his neck and
another perched upon each hip, and then waded off with the rest. There
were left on the jumper but two more of the small children, and Jennie.
That was Jack's shrewdness. He was well spent and shaky when he reached
the shore this time.

He put the children down and turned to Billy. "B-b-illy," he chattered,
"will you go back with me, and will you bring ashore those two kids?"

Billy looked a trifle dismal. He had just set down upon the roadway the
girl he liked best, and he wanted to go to the schoolhouse with her.
Added to this he was awfully cold. But he was faithful.

"On account of you've done more than your share I'll go you," he
decided.

They went out again, out through that dreadful hundred yards of icy
flood, and Billy marched off with the children, and then Jack reached
out his hands, though hesitatingly. He was bashful still, despite the
emergency his villainy had made. As for Jennie, she did not hesitate.
She stepped up close to him, was taken in his arms like a baby, and the
journey began. What a trip it was for Jack! There she was, clinging fast
to him, and he with his arms close about her! Who said that the water
was cold? It was just right--never was more delightful water! And she
didn't seem to dislike the journey, either. She even seemed to cuddle a
little. He wished it were a mile to land. Hooray!

And the road was reached at last, and the blushing and beaming young
lady set down upon her feet. She didn't say anything but reached out
her hand to Jack, and led him on a run to the schoolhouse. The fire had
been kindled into roaring strength by those first to reach the place,
and all the soaked ones gathered about the stove and steamed there into
relative degrees of dryness. Jack steamed with the rest, but he was in a
dream--one of the blissful type.

In time the teacher returned, and with him a farmer and his hired man,
and a team and a wagon-load of plank, too late for aid, even had aid
been practicable. There was no school that afternoon. The teacher could
not accuse any one of fault, nor blame the pupils that they had
hesitated when he called them; while, on the other hand, he was det