ruck. And there, almost breathless, they watched the work of
rescue going on.

One by one little boys and girls were lifted down off the truck, and
then, when the last had reached safely the far shore, Mr. Blake, Mrs.
Simpson, and the other men and women made their way carefully to land.

"Aren't you coming?" asked Mr. Blake of the truck driver, for the man
was still close to his big car, looking at it and the sagging floor of
the bridge.

"I want to see if I can get this truck off," he answered. "The machine
isn't damaged any--it's only the bridge. I guess the load was too heavy
for it."

"I heard it cracking as I went over," called the driver of the first
truck. "I shouted a warning to you, but it was too late."

"Yes, it was too late to save the bridge, but maybe I can get my truck
off," the other driver went on. "Anyhow, none of the children is hurt."

And this was so--something for which the Sunday school officers were
very glad, indeed.

"If we had some pieces of wood to put under the bridge, to brace it up,
maybe you could get the truck over," said the driver of the big auto
that was safe on the far shore.

"Why don't you take fence rails?" asked Bert, who felt better, now that
his sisters and brother were all right.

"Yes, we could do that," agreed the driver of the second auto. "Come
on--give me a hand!" he called to his companion.

The two men worked away for a time, and braced up the bridge so that the
auto could be driven carefully over it, though it was not easy to get it
up the hill made when the bridge had sunk into the shape of the letter
V.

But finally the empty second truck was safe on the other side of the
stream, near the first one, and rails were put across the road to warn
other vehicles not to try to cross the bridge. It was safe enough for a
person to walk across, but it would not hold up an auto or a horse and
wagon.

"We may as well go on to the picnic grounds," said Mr. Blake, when the
smaller, frightened children had gotten over their crying.

"How we going to get home again if we can't cross the bridge?" asked
Flossie, looking at the sagging structure.

"Oh, there's another bridge over the creek, about two miles down," the
driver of the second truck said. "That will be all right."

Soon the children and grown folks were on the autos again, and moving
toward the picnic grounds. This time there was not so much merry
laughter and singing, for all felt that there had been a n