," drawled Andy, with much hesitation, "I hain't been started out
long." He turned from the door and faced his companion rather
sheepishly.

"I hopes ye ain't been poppin' off that rifle o' your'n along that
deer-path down in the hollow, an' a-skeerin' off all the wild critters,"
said Jack Dunn, with sudden apprehension. "Ef I war ez pore a shot ez ye
air, I'd go a-huntin' with a bean-pole instead of a gun, an' leave the
game ter them that kin shoot it."

Andy was of a mercurial and nervous temperament, and this fact perhaps
may account for the anomaly of a mountain-boy who was a poor shot. Andy
was the scoff of Persimmon Ridge.

"I hev seen many a gal who could shoot ez well ez ye kin,--better,"
continued Jack jeeringly. "But law! I needn't kerry my heavy bones down
thar in the hollow expectin' ter git a deer ter-day. They air all off in
the woods a-smellin' the powder ye hev been wastin'."

Andy was pleased to change the subject. "It 'pears ter me that that thar
water air a-scuttlin' along toler'ble fast," he said, turning his eyes
to the little window through which the stream could be seen.

It _was_ running fast, and with a tremendous force. One could obtain
some idea of the speed and impetus of the current from the swift
vehemence with which logs and branches shot past, half hidden in foam.

The water looked black with this white contrast. Here and there a great,
grim rock projected sharply above the surface. In the normal condition
of the stream, these were its overhanging banks, but now, submerged,
they gave to its flow the character of rapids.

The old mill, its wooden supports submerged too, trembled and throbbed
with the throbbing water. As Jack looked toward the window, his eyes
were suddenly distended, his cheek paled, and he sprang to the door
with a frightened exclamation.

Too late! the immense hole of a fallen tree, shooting down the channel
with the force and velocity of a great projectile, struck the tottering
supports of the crazy, rotting building.

It careened, and quivered in every fibre; there was a crash of falling
timbers, then a mighty wrench, and the two boys, clinging to the
window-frame, were driving with the wreck down the river.

The old mill thundered against the submerged rocks, and at every
concussion the timbers fell. It whirled around and around in eddying
pools. Where the water was clear, and smooth, and deep, it shot along
with great rapidity.

The convulsively clinging