Then his agonized knees collapsed. His
shoulders, with no warmth except the thin shirt-sleeves to cover them,
began to sting, then ache, then grow numb. Once more he huddled into
a limp little heap, and this time his eyes closed.
* * * * * * * *
"Do you know, father, I'm anxious about Jacky," said Mrs. Moran, as
they sat down to supper without the boy. "He's never come back since
he started with the lantern, and it's such an awful night. I'm afraid
something has happened to him."
"Why, nothing could have happened," answered Mr. Moran. "The lantern was
burning at the 'death-hole' all right as we crossed the ice."
"Then why isn't Jacky home long ago?" asked Mrs. Moran. "He never goes
to Andy's at this hour. He is always on time for supper. I don't like
it, Tom, one bit. The night is too bad for him not to have come directly
home. There, hear that wind." As she spoke the gale swept around the
bend of the river, and the house rocked with the full force of the
storm.
Tom Moran shoved back his chair, leaving his meal half finished.
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