Mollie with an understanding look at each other climbed from the boat to the raft. It was big and strong enough to support much more weight; for, though it was rudely made, it was substantial, being composed of tree trunks, and boards, bound together with withes, forest vines, and bits of rope.
"He—he's breathing—anyhow," said Mollie, softly.
"Yes, we—we must lift him up," spoke Betty. "Come on."
They exposed the pale and drawn face of the youth on the raft. At the sight of it Grace, who with Amy was leaning breathlessly over the side of the boat, uttered a cry.
"It's Will!" she screamed, half-hysterically. "It's my brother Will!"
Betty and Mollie started back, and nearly let the limp body slip off the raft.
"What—what!" cried Betty, for the figure of the youth bore no resemblance to Will; nor did the features. But the eyes of a sister were not to be deceived.
"It is Will!" she cried. "I have been hoping and praying all the while that it might be he—and it is. It's Will!"
She would have gotten down to the raft had not Amy restrained her.
