“Good idea,” said Dick, and proceeded to lash the long strips together with the straps, aided by sundry strings and handkerchiefs.

Then there were several moments of suspense until Migwan came within reach of the pole.  She simply had to wait until she floated near enough to grasp it, which the perverse ice cake seemed to have no intention of doing.  The right combination of wind and wave came at last, however, and drove her in toward the shore.  She was still beyond the end of the pole.  “Jump onto the next cake,” called Sahwah.  Migwan obeyed in fear and trembling.  It took still another jump before she could reach the lifesaver.  She was now separated from the broken mass at the edge of the solid ice by about six feet.  With Migwan clinging fast to the pole Dick began to pull in gently, so as not to pull her off the ice, and the cake began to move across this open space until it was close beside the nearer mass of broken pieces.  Then, supported by the improvised hand rail, Migwan leaped from one cake to the next, and so made her way back to the solid part.  It was an exciting process, for the pieces tipped and heaved when she stepped on them, and bobbed up and down, and some turned over just as her feet left them.

“Eliza crossing the ice,” said Sahwah, giggling nervously.

Migwan sank down exhausted when she felt the solid mass under her feet and knew that the danger was over.  She was chilled through and through, and more than one wave had splashed over the floating ice while she was on it and soaked her shoes and stockings.  Sahwah took this in at a glance.  “Get up,” she said sharply, “and run.  Run all the way home if you don’t want to get pneumonia.  It’s your only chance.”  Taking hold of her hands, Dick and Sahwah ran along beside her, making her keep up the pace when she pleaded fatigue.  More dead than alive she reached home, but warm from head to foot.  Sahwah rolled her in hot blankets and administered hot drinks with a practiced hand.  Neither Mrs. Gardiner nor Betty were at home.  Migwan soon dropped off to sleep, and woke feeling entirely well.  Thanks to Sahwah’s taking her in hand she emerged from the experience without even a sign of a cold.

With heroic patience and courage she began again the weary task of typing and burning all the pages of Professor Green’s book and finished it this time without mishap.  The money she received for it all went into the family purse.  Not a cent did she spend on herself.

Not long after this Migwan had a taste of fame.  She had a poem printed in the paper!  It happened in this way.  At the Sunbeam Nursery one morning Nyoda saw her surrounded by a group of breathlessly listening children and joined the circle to hear the story Migwan was telling.  She had apparently just finished, and the childish voices were calling out from all sides, “Tell it again!” Nyoda listened with interest as Migwan, with a solemn expression and impressive voice, recited the tragic tale of the “Goop Who Wouldn’t Wash”: