His face and hands were blue.
"What shall we do with him ?" Addison whispered to me in alarm.

"It's five miles home.

I'm afraid he'll freeze." We then thought of the old Squire's logging camp on Papoose Pond, the outlet of which entered Wild Brook about half a mile above where we had tried to cross it.

We knew that there was a cooking stove in the camp and decided that our best plan was to take Tom there and dry his clothes.

Getting him between us, we tried to make him run, but he seemed unable to move his feet.
"Run, run, Tom!" we shouted to him.