Even in that black chaos which was swiftly suffocating the life from her, unspoken words of cheer for Peter formed in her heart, and she struggled to hold him to her, while with her other hand she fought to raise herself by the stub of the log to which she clung.

For she was not thinking of him as Peter, the dog, but as something greater--something that had fought for her that day, and because of her had died.
Suddenly she felt a force pulling her from above.

It was the big log, turning again to that point of equilibrium which for a space her weight had destroyed.

In the edge of a quieter pool where the water swirled but did not rush, her brown head appeared, and then her white face, and with a last mighty effort she thrust up Peter so that his dripping body was on the log.

Sobbingly she filled her lungs with air.