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 one side, her head striking a tree a smashing blow and breaking the kettle.

Finding herself free she gave another roar and plunged into the wood.

Stanley had held his breath as their visitor hit the tree beside his head and he sighed deep in relief as he beheld her departing.

“She’s gone,” choked Bub.

Stanley did not reply. His eyes were glued on to a piece of the kettle that had landed close beside him.

“Why don’t you speak, Stanley? Did she step on you and kill you? ” cried Bub.

“No,” replied Stanley, not shifting his eyes. “I’m still alive. I am figuring on getting that piece of iron that is about six inches beyond my reach.”

“Roll over to it,” begged Bub, his face twisting to keep pace with Stanley’s efforts.

“If I could have done that I would have rolled into the fire long ago,” panted Stanley. “They hitched one end of the rope to the tree.”

“Go it, Stan! Go it,” pleaded Bub, puffing out his cheeks and straining at his bonds as if that would help his perspiring companion.

“I—can’t—make—it,” groaned Stanley, ceasing his efforts.

“Stanley Malcolm, you can make it,”