le
pack.

"Go see if your father's comin', b'y," said Donald's mother. "I'm
gettin' terrible nervous about the ice."

Donald took his gaff--a long pole of the light, tough dogwood, two
inches thick and shod with iron--and set out. It was growing dark. The
wind, rising still, was blowing in strong, cold gusts. It began to
snow while he was yet on the ice of the harbour, half a mile away
from the pans and dumpers which the wind of the day before had crowded
against the coast.

When he came to the "standing edge"--the stationary rim of ice which
is frozen to the coast--the wind was thickly charged with snow. What
with dusk and snow, he found it hard to keep to the right way. But he
was not afraid for himself; his only fear was that the wind would
sweep the ice-pack out to sea before his father reached the standing
edge. In that event, as he knew, Job North would be doomed.

Donald went out on the standing edge. Beyond lay a widening gap of
water. The pack had already begun to move out.

There was no sign of Job North's party. The lad ran up and down,
hallooing as he ran; but for a time there was no answer to his call.
Then it seemed to him that he heard a despairing hail, sounding far to
the right, whence he had come. Night had almost fallen, and the snow
added to its depth; but as he ran back Donald could still see across
the gap of water to the great pan of ice, which, of all the pack, was
nearest to the standing edge. He perceived that the gap had
considerably widened since he had first observed it.

"Is that you, father?" he called.

"Ay, Donald," came an answering hail from directly opposite. "Is there
a small pan of ice on your side?"

Donald searched up and down the standing edge for a detached cake
large enough for his purpose. Near at hand he came upon a small, thin
pan, not more than six feet square.

"Haste, b'y!" cried his father.

"They's one here," he called back, "but 'tis too small. Is there none
there?"

"No, b'y. Fetch that over."

Here was desperate need. If the lad were to meet it, he must act
instantly and fearlessly. He stepped out on the pan and pushed off
with his gaff. Using his gaff as a paddle--as these gaffs are
constantly used in ferrying by the Newfoundland fishermen--and helped
by the wind, he soon ferried himself to where Job North stood waiting
with his companions.

"'Tis too small," said Stevens. "'Twill not hold two."

North looked dubiously at the pan. Alexander Bludd