Before he could make further objection, the young adventurer quickly straddled the swaying pole, and, with the agility of a cat, hopped across, grasped one of the limbs and slipped to the sand.

"Come on!" he shouted. "See how easy it is!"

The Boy looked doubtfully at the swaying sapling and wished he had gone to hear that preacher after all. It would never do to say he was afraid. The other fellow had done it so quickly. And it was no use to argue with Austin that his legs were shorter, his body more compact and so much easier to hold his balance. The idea of cowardice was something too vile for thought. The Boy felt that he was doomed to fall before he moved but he waved a brave little hand in answer:

"All right, I'm comin'!"

Half way across the pole began to tear its roots from the bluff. He felt it sinking, stopped and held his breath as it suddenly broke with a crash and fell.

"Look out! Hold tight!" Austin yelled.

He did his best, but lost his balance and toppled head downward into the deep still water.

His mouth flew open at the first touch of the chill stream; he gasped for breath and drew into his lungs a strangling flood. The blood rushed to his brain in a wild explosion of terror. He struck out madly with his long arms and legs, fighting with desperation for breath and drinking in only the agony and fear of death. His mother's voice came low and faint and far away in some other world, saying softly:

"Be good now, while we're gone!"

Again he struck out blindly, fiercely, madly into the darkness that was slowly swallowing him body and soul.

His hand touched something as he sank, he grasped it with instinctive terror and knew no more until he waked in the infernal regions with the Devil sitting on his stomach glaring into his eyes and holding him by the throat trying to choke him to death. His head was down a steep hill.

With a mighty effort he threw the Devil off, loosed his hold and sucked in a tiny breath of air, and then another and another, coughing and spluttering and wheezing foam and water from his mouth and ears and nose and eyes.

At last a voice gasped:

"Is—that—you—Austin?"

"You bet it's me! I got ye a breathin' all right now—who'd ye think it wuz?"

The Boy coughed again and squeezed his lungs clear of water.

"Why—I was afraid I was dead and you was the Old Scratch and had me."

"Well, I thought you was a goner shore nuff till yer hand grabbed the pole I stuck after ye. Man alive, but you did hold onto it! I lakened ter never got yer hand loose so's I could pull ye up on the bank and turn ye upside down and squeeze the water outen ye."

"Did you sit on my stomach and choke me?" the Boy asked.

"I set on yer and mashed the water out, but I didn't choke you."

"I thought the Old Scratch had me!"

For an hour they talked in awed whispers of Sin and Death and Trouble and then the blood of youth shook off the nightmare.

They were alive and unhurt. They were all right and it was a good joke. They swore eternal secrecy. The day was yet young and it was a glorious one. Their clothes were wet and they had to be dried before night. That settled it. They would strip, hang their clothes in the hot sun and wallow in the sand and play in the shallow water until sundown.

"And besides," Austin urged, "this here's a warnin' straight from the Lord—me and you must learn ter swim."

"That's so, ain't it?" the Boy agreed.

"It's what I calls a sign from on high—and it pints right into the creek!"

They agreed that the thing to do was to heed at once this divine revelation and devote the whole Sabbath day to the solemn work—in the creek.

They found a beautifully sunny spot with an immense sand bar and wide shallow safe waters. They carefully placed their clothes to dry and basked in the bright sun. They practiced swimming in water waist deep and Austin learned to make three strokes and reach the length of his body before sinking.

They rolled in the sun again and ate their lunch. They ran naked through the woods to a branch that flowed into the creek, followed it to the source and drank at a beautiful spring.

Through the long afternoon they lived in a fairy world of freedom, of dreams and make-believe. They talked of great hunters and discussed the best methods of attacking all manner of wild beasts.

The sun was sinking toward the western hills when they hastily picked up their clothes and found a safe ford across which they could wade, holding their things above their heads.

The Boy reached the house just as the wagon drove up to the door. He hurried to help his father with the horse. A sense of elation filled his mind that he was shrewd enough to keep his own secrets. Of course, his mother needn't know what had happened. He was none the worse for it.

In answer to her question of how he had spent the day he vaguely answered:

"In the woods. They're awfully pretty now with the dogwood all in bloom."

He talked incessantly at supper, teasing Sarah about her jolly time at the meeting. Toward the end of the meal he grew silent. A curious sensation began on his back and shoulders and arms. He paid no attention to it at first, but it rapidly grew worse. The more he tried to shake off the feeling the more distinct and sharp it grew. At last every inch of his body seemed to be on fire.

He rose slowly from the table and walked to his stool in the corner wondering—wondering and fearing. He sat in dead silence for half an hour. The perspiration began to stand out on his forehead. It was no use longer to try to fool himself, there was something the matter—something big—something terrible! A fierce and scorching fever was burning him to death. He dared not move. Every muscle quivered with agony when he tried.

The mother's keen eye saw the tears he couldn't keep back.

"What's the matter, Boy?" she tenderly asked while his father was at the stable putting the wagon under the shed.

"I don't know 'm," he choked. "I'm all on fire—I'm burnin' up——"

She touched his forehead and slipped her arm around his shoulders.

He screamed with pain.

The mother looked into his face with a sudden start.

"Why, what on earth, child? What have you been doing to-day?"

He hesitated and tried to be brave, but it was no use. He felt that he would drop dead the next moment unless relief came. He buried his face in her lap and sobbed his bitter confession.

"Do you think I'm going to die?" he asked.

She smiled:

"No, my Boy, you're only sunburned. How long were you naked in the sun?"

"From 'bout ten o'clock till nearly sundown——"

He moved again and screamed with agony.

The mother tenderly undressed the little, red, swollen body. The rough clothes had stuck to the blistered skin in one place and the pain was so frightful he nearly fainted before they were finally removed.

For two days and nights she never left his side, holding his hand to give him courage when he was compelled to move. Almost his entire body, inch by inch, was blistered. She covered it with cream and allowed only two greased linen cloths to touch him.

On the second day as he lay panting for breath and holding her hand with feverish grasp he looked into her pensive grey eyes through his own bleared and bloodshot with pain and said softly:

"I'm sorry, Ma."

She pressed his hand:

"It's all right, my Boy; your mother loves you."

"I'm not sorry for the pain," he gasped. "What hurts me worse is that you're so sweet to me!"