The roar of the water among the stones above and over the rocks below was deafening, and Fisher's piping voice could never make itself heard above it.

He tried to throw a stone, but its little splash was lost in the hurly-burly of the rapids.

It was hopeless to expect that Rollitt would see him.

He had no eyes but for his rod.
The last glimpse Fisher minor caught of him as the boat, side-on, swirled round the turn towards the falls below, he was standing on the seat, craning his neck for a glimpse of his prize, and winding in gingerly on the reel as he did so.

Then he disappeared.
With a groan of panic the small boy started to follow.