Aunt Jane's Nieces
In a moment he was over the edge, clutching wildly at the
plank, which was a foot or more beyond his reach. Headforemost he
dove into space, but the clutching hand found something at last--the
projecting hook of an old eaves-trough that had long since been
removed--and to this he clung fast in spite of the jerk of his
arrested body, which threatened to tear away his grip.
But his plight was desperate, nevertheless. He was dangling in space,
the hard pavement thirty feet below him, with no possible way of
pulling himself up to the roof again. And the hook was so small that
there was no place for his other hand. The only way he could cling
to it at all was to grasp his wrist with the free hand as a partial
relief from the strain upon his arm.
"Hold fast!" called Patsy. "I'm coming."
She sprang up the steps, through the boy's room and into the hallway.
There she quickly perceived the ladder, and mounted it to the roof.
Taking in the situation at a glance she ran with steady steps down
the sloping roof to where the plank lay, and stepped out upon it far
enough to see the boy dangling beside her. Then she decided instantly
what to do.
"Hang on!" she called, and returning to the roof dragged the end of
the plank to a position directly over the hook. Then she lay flat upon
it, an arm on either side of the plank, and reaching down seized one
of the boy's wrists firmly in each hand.
"Now, then," said she, "let go the hook."
"If I do," answered the boy, his white face upturned to hers, "I'll
drag you down with me."
"No you won't. I'm very strong, and I'm sure I can save you. Let go,"
she said, imperatively.
"I'm not afraid to die," replied the boy, his voice full of
bitterness. "Take away your hands, and I'll drop."
But Patsy gripped him more firmly than ever.
"Don't be a fool!" she cried. "There's no danger whatever, if you do
just what I tell you."
His eyes met hers in a mute appeal; but suddenly he gained confidence,
and resolved to trust her. In any event, he could not cling to the
hook much longer.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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