“I mean this; I was coming home and heard some one calling for help, and ran to the dock and saw—­no, I couldn’t see a barley-corn before my nose—­but I knew somebody was down there, and without thinking—­”

“Just like you!” said Aunt Stanshy to herself.

“And in I went, and I succeeded in getting my man, who is drunk, round to the upper aide of the dock.”

“You did splendidly,” said Aunt Stanshy, aloud.

“But I had to work for it!  And now I want a light, which you may wonder I didn’t get before; but I was so anxious to help that fellow, I put and run as soon as I heard him cry, and when I was in the dock I thought I might as well stick to him and work him into a safe place.  But haven’t you a door in the dock-side of your barn?”

“Y—­e—­s,” said Aunt Stanshy, reluctantly, remembering an old decision about the door.  “I will be out, and you take the lantern that you will see in the back entry.  Don’t mind my floor.  I will be out in two minutes.”

“Let me go down and show Will about the lantern,” said Charlie.

“Are you dressed?”

“O yes.  I thought I might help, you know,” was the complacent remark of Charlie, who had improved his time, and, while keeping his “ears out,” had been putting his legs into his pants as rapidly as possible.

“You have been smarter than your aunt, but she will be there soon.”

Charlie showed Will where the lantern hung in the back entry, and together they went into the barn.

“Here is the door,” said Charlie, “that lets folks into the dock.”

“But how do you get the thing open?” asked Will, flashing the light of his lantern upon the door.

“I will open it,” said Aunt Stanshy, who now appeared, and already decided that the door might be consistently opened for a good deed’s sake.  She carried a hammer in her hand, which she energetically swung about the driven nails, soon removing them.  Then she threw back the door, and out into the black night peered anxiously.  How long it had been since the last time that she had looked out from that door!  She could see nothing at first, but in a moment made out a man’s form below.  As the rays of Aunt Stanshy’s lamp shone out, they made a bridge of light that stretched off into the mist, as if anxious to reach the river and bridge it for some poor, helpless soul in the water.

“Say, friend, you down there?” called out Will.

A voice below answered, “Yesh—­hic—­I’ll help you—­up—­”

“You will?  Better let me help you first.”

“Shuit yourself—­hic.”

Will descended the steps, and found the man leaning against the dock-wall.

“Now, friend, we’ll climb these stairs.”

“I will—­help you—­hic—­yes—­up.”

“You are very kind, but let me help you first.  Now go it!  Tough!  You don’t gain a peg.”

“You’ll have me—­hic—­over—­friend.”