ing the bell, Bobby?" he asked.

They proceeded together to the front of the house where hung the bell
cord. Bobby seized this and pulled as hard as he was able. But his
weight could not bring the heavy bell over. Corrigan, smiling grimly
under his white moustache, gave him advice.

"Pull on her, Bobby, hang yer feet off'n the ground. Now let up entire!
Now pull again! Now let up! That's the bye! You'll get her goin' yit
widout the help of any man."

Sure enough the weight of the bell did give slightly under Bobby's
frantic, though now rythmic, efforts. Nevertheless Corrigan took
opportunity to reach out surreptitiously above the little boy's head to
add a few pounds to the downward pull. At last the clapper reached the
side.

_Cling!_ it broke the stillness.

"There you got her goin', Bobby!" cried Corrigan, "Now all you got to do
is to keep at her. Now pull! Now let go. See how much easier she goes?"

The bell, started in its orbit, was now easy enough to manipulate. Bobby
was delighted at the noise he was producing, and still more delighted at
its results. For from the maze of his toil he could see men coming--men
from the logs near at hand, men from the booms far away--all coming to
the bell, concentrating at a common centre. By now the bell was turning
entirely over. Bobby was becoming enthusiastic. He tugged and tugged.
Sometimes when he did not let go the rope in time, he was lifted
slightly off his feet. The sun was hot, but he had no thought of
quitting. His hat fell off backward, his towsled hair wetted at the
edges, clung to his forehead, his dull red cheeks grew redder behind
their freckles, his eyes fairly closed in an ecstasy of enjoyment. He
did not hear Corrigan laughing, nor the gleeful shouts of the men as
they leaped ashore and with dripping boots advanced to the expected
meal. All he knew was that wonderful _clang!_ _clang!_ _clang!_ over
him; the only thought in his little head was that he, _he_, Bobby Orde,
was making all this noise himself!

How long he would have continued before giving out entirely it would be
hard to say, but at this moment Mr. Orde and Jim Denning came around the
corner with some haste. Both looked worried and a little angry until
they caught sight of the small bell-ringer. Then they too laughed with
the men.

But Mr. Orde swooped down on his son and tossed him on his shoulder.

"That'll do," he advised, "we're all here. Lord, Corrigan! I thought you
were afire at l