she suddenly, "I've got a nibble!"

Horace sprang to draw up her line.

"I feel it right here on my neck," said the child; "I s'pose it's a
fly."

"Now, look here," said Horace, rather vexed, "you're a little too bad.
You made me drop my line just when I was going to have a nibble. Wait
till you feel the string wiggle, and then speak, but don't scream."

The children sat still for a few minutes longer, and no sound was
heard but now and then a wagon going over the bridge. But they might
as well have dropped their lines in the sand for all the fish they
caught. Horace began to wish he had gone to school.

"O dear!" groaned Prudy, getting tired, "I never did see such fishes.
I guess they don't want to be catched."

"There, now you've spoke again, and scared one away," said Horace. "If
it hadn't been for you I should have got, I don't know how many, by
this time."

Prudy's lip began to tremble, and two big round tears rose to her
eyes.

"Poh! crying about that?" said Horace; "you're a nice little girl if
you do talk too much, so don't you cry."

Horace rather enjoyed seeing Grace and Susy in tears, but could never
bear to have Prudy cry.

"I'll tell you what it is," said Horace, when Prudy's eyes were clear
again, "I don't think I make much playing hookey."

"I don't like playing 'hookey' neither," returned Prudy, "'cause the
hooks won't catch 'em."

"O, you don't know what I mean," laughed Horace. "When we boys 'out
west' stay out of school, we call _that_ playing hookey."

"O, do you? But I want to go home now, if we can't catch any nibbles."

"No, I'll tell you what we'll do--we'll walk out on that log, and try
it there."

The river was quite high, and this was one of the logs that had
drifted down from the "Rips." Prudy was really afraid to walk on it,
because it was "so round," but not liking to be laughed at, she crept
on her hands and knees to the very end of the log, trembling all the
way.

Horace took the two poles and followed; but the moment he stepped on
the log it rolled quite over, carrying Prudy under.

I do not know what Horace thought then, but he had to think fast. If
he had been older he might have plunged in after Prudy, but he was
only a little boy, seven years old, so he ran for the house. O, how he
ran!

Aunt Madge was ironing in the back kitchen. She heard heavy breathing,
and the quick pattering of feet, and the words gasped out, "Prudy's in
the river!"

"Prudy!" screame