The whole bridge suddenly collapsed under him, and down went Tom with it into the rushing water, which whirled him along toward a jam of ice and drift stuff twenty or thirty yards below.
By flinging his arms across one of those great cakes of hard-frozen snow he managed to keep his head up; and he shouted lustily for us to help him.

He bumped against the jam and hung there, fighting with both arms to keep from being carried under it.
Addison, who had the axe, ran down the bank and with a few strokes cut a moosewood sapling, which we thrust out to Tom.

He caught hold of it, and then, by pulling hard, we hauled him to the bank and helped him out.
Oh, but wasn't he a wet boy, and didn't his teeth chatter! In fact, all three of us were wet, for, in our excitement, Addison and I had gone in knee-deep, and the water had splashed over us.

In that bitter cold wind we felt it keenly.

Tom was nearly torpid; he seemed unable to speak, and we could hardly make him take a step.