the man twirling about between them.  They would inevitably have been drowned, had not old Peggy caught up a long dust-rake that was close at hand—­scrambled down up to her knees in the canal—­clawed hold of the struggling group with the teeth of the rake, and fairly brought the whole to land.  Jem was first up the bank, and helped up his two heroic companions; after which, with no small difficulty, they contrived to haul the body of the stranger out of the water.  Jem at once recognized in him the forlorn figure of the man who had passed by in the morning, looking so sadly into the canal as he walked along.

It is a fact well known to those who work in the vicinity of these great Dust-heaps, that when the ashes have been warmed by the sun, cats and kittens that have been taken out of the canal and buried a few inches beneath the surface, have usually revived; and the same has often occurred in the case of men.  Accordingly, the three, without a moment’s hesitation, dragged the body along to the Dust-heap, where they made a deep trench, in which they placed it, covering it all over up to the neck.

“There now,” ejaculated Peggy, sitting down with a long puff to recover her breath, “he’ll lie very comfortable, whether or no.”

“Couldn’t lie better,” said old Doubleyear, “even if he knew it.”

The three now seated themselves close by, to await the result.

“I thought I’d a lost him,” said Jem, “and myself too; and when I pulled Daddy in arter me, I guv us all three up for this world.”

“Yes,” said Doubleyear, “it must have gone queer with us if Peggy had not come in with the rake.  How d’yee feel, old girl? for you’ve had a narrow escape too.  I wonder we were not too heavy for you, and so pulled you in to go with us.”

“The Lord be praised!” fervently ejaculated Peggy, pointing toward the pallid face that lay surrounded with ashes.  A convulsive twitching passed over the features, the lips trembled, the ashes over the breast heaved, and a low moaning sound, which might have come from the bottom of the canal, was heard.  Again the moaning sound, and then the eyes opened, but closed almost immediately.

“Poor dear soul,” whispered Peggy, “how he suffers in surviving.  Lift him up a little.  Softly.  Don’t be afeard.  We’re only your good angels, like—­only poor cinder-sifters—­don’tee be afeard.”

By various kindly attentions and maneuvers such as these poor people had been accustomed to practice on those who were taken out of the canal, the unfortunate gentleman was gradually brought to his senses.  He gazed about him, as well he might—­now looking in the anxious, though begrimed, faces of the three strange objects, all in their “weeds” and dust—­and then up at the huge Dust-heap, over which the moon was now slowly rising.

“Land of quiet Death!” murmured he, faintly, “or land of Life, as dark and still—­I have passed from one into the other; but which of ye I am now in, seems doubtful to my senses.”