All were paralyzed with fear.
Blair had forced his way through the crowd, and reached the edge of the wharf in time to see the pale, agonized face of the English boy, as he for the second time rose to the surface.

In another moment Blair was diving where, far in the deep water, the pale face had vanished from sight.
There was a moment of breathless silence, then a deafening cheer, as Blair reappeared with the drowning boy in his arms.
There were hands enough outstretched to aid him in laying his burden on the shore.

"Help me carry him, boys, straight to our house.

Mother will know what to do for him," said Blair, speaking very quickly.
It was but a few steps down a neighboring street to Joe Robertson's pleasant home.
Blair did not fear to take in the dripping boy and lay him on his mother's best bed.

He knew that mother's joy was to minister to the distressed and succor the unfortunate.
The water was soon pouring from the mouth, nose, and ears of the unconscious lad.