and we thought we were going to
lose her. You saw how hard I cried, but most of my tears were caused by
the remembrance of my cruelty to her the night before."

"But, Katrina, you did right," said the father, who heard the affecting
incident for the first time. "It won't do to humor children so much: it
will spoil them."

"That may be, but I cannot help thinking of that all the time; it would
have done no harm to humor Nellie that time, for she was a good girl."

"You speak truth, but--"

The poor father, who tried so bravely to keep up, broke down and was
unable to speak. The story touched him as much as it did the mother.

"Never mind, Katrina--"

At that moment Nick called out:

"Here's the bridge!"

The structure loomed through the gloom as it was dimly lighted by the
lanterns, and all walked rapidly forward until they stood upon the rough
planking.

Suddenly the mother uttered a cry, and stooping down snatched up
something from the ground close to the planks.

The startled friends looked affrightedly toward her, and saw that she
held the lunch basket of her little daughter in her hand.

CHAPTER VIII.

STARTLING FOOTPRINTS.

On the very edge of the bridge over Shark Creek, the mother of Nellie
Ribsam picked up the lunch basket which her daughter had taken to school
that morning. It lay on its side, with the snowy napkin partly out, and
within it was a piece of brown bread which the parent had spread with
golden butter, and which was partly eaten.

No wonder the afflicted woman uttered a half-suppressed scream when she
picked up what seemed a memento of her dead child.

While the lanterns were held in a circle around the basket, which the
father took from his wife, Mr. Ribsam lifted the piece of bread in his
hand. There were the prints made by the strong white teeth of little
Nellie, and there was not a dry eye when all gazed upon the food, which
the father softly returned to the basket and reverently covered with the
napkin.

No one ventured to speak, but the thoughts of all were the same.

Stepping to the railing at the side of the bridge Mr. Layton held his
lantern over, Nick and Mr. Kilgore immediately doing the same. The rays
extended right and left and far enough downward to reach the stream,
which could be seen, dark and quiet, flowing beneath and away through
the woods to the big pond, a quarter of a mile below.

In the oppressive stillness the soft rustling of the water was he