on one bright Friday in June, as Bessie and Rudolph were
returning from school together, they ran toward their father, who was
working in the clearing.

"Father! father!" they shouted, "will you take us down the stream
to-morrow?--we want to see where it goes to."

"Goes to?" laughed back the father. "Why, it goes to the moon; didn't
Kitty say so last night?"

"Now, father," returned Bessie, pouting just a little, "you _know_ we
don't believe that. We want you so much to take us in the boat; it
doesn't leak at all now--oh! do." And both children fairly capered in
their excitement.

Mr. Hedden smiled; but; after wiping his forehead with a red and yellow
handkerchief, went on thoughtfully with his work without returning any
answer.

The children, looking wistfully at him a moment, turned toward the
house, wondering among themselves, "what father meant to do about it."

That evening, at the supper-table (where they didn't have napkin rings
or silver salt-cellars, I can assure you), Mr. Hedden asked his wife
whether Tom Hennessy was back from "up river" yet?

"I think he came home yesterday," returned his wife. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I thought, as to-morrow'll be a holiday, I'd get him to take
the youngsters down the stream in the scow."

"Oh! husband," rejoined Mrs. Hedden, looking up anxiously, "do you think
it's safe?"

"Why not, Betsey?--the scow doesn't leak; and even if it did, the water
isn't above Tom's waist anywhere."

"I don't mean anything of that kind," pursued the wife, smiling in spite
of herself at the joyful faces of the young folks. "I--I mean the
Indians."

"Oh, never fear about them; I'll give Tom every necessary caution," was
the answer. "The boat won't be gone more than two hours altogether; and,
to my mind, there wouldn't be the slightest danger in letting even
little Kitty join the party."

"Oh! tanky, Poppy, tanky!" shouted Kitty, clapping her chubby hands in
great glee. Every one at the table laughed heartily at her unexpected
response.

Bright and early the next morning, the children stood in the door-way,
eagerly looking out for Tom. Big Tom, the village boys called him; and
well they might, for he was a staunch, burly fellow, who looked as if he
could crush an Indian in each hand--not that he had ever had an
opportunity to perform that remarkable feat, for Tom Hennessy had but
recently arrived from a large town in the East; but he _looked_ as if he
could do it; and, there