up, 'n' git lots a' fresh air. Now, Ade, I don't know's I ought t' let you two go. What d' ye say, Roger?"

"I don't feel at all tired," answered the boy. "I am not sure I could walk eight miles, but—"

"It's less than two miles there, pop," broke in Adrian, "and, say, you need n't worry, but I'll take care of Roger. We'll walk slow."

"I guess I can tramp as far as the creek," put in Roger, feeling a little nettled that his physical ability should so often come up for discussion.

"Wa'al, all right," assented Mr. Kimball. "It's a nice day, 'n' I guess it won't hurt ye none. Look out ye don't fall in, that's all. It's deep near th' hole where th' best fishin' is."

"We'll be careful," promised Adrian.

Breakfast over Adrian got out the fishing tackle and a spade with which to dig the worms for bait. Roger was provided with a bamboo pole and the necessary line, hooks, and sinkers. Then, when Adrian announced, after spading a good-sized patch of the barnyard up, that they had bait enough in the tin can, the two boys shouldered their poles and started off.

The way to the creek was along the main street of Cardiff, which ran through the centre of the village, up to the cross-road, that led eastward to the town of Lafayette. At this point the path went west, twisting and turning along the highway, over the hills to Onondaga Lake, twenty miles away. This was the first glimpse Roger had of the hamlet of Cardiff, except for the hasty glances as he had passed through on the stage the evening before. There were not more than sixty houses in the place, all comfortably close together, on the two sides of the main street.

Here and there, spread out along other roads, were scattered farms, with big, roomy, white houses and weather-stained barns and corn-cribs.

The boys passed over the little brook that ran across the road, just beyond Adrian's home, the stream being spanned by a wooden bridge. Soon they came to Hank Mack's general store, where you could buy a plow or a yard of red calico, a stick of candy or some gunpowder, a loaf of bread or a salt mackerel. Then there was the blacksmith shop, in the door of which stood Sam Bennett, and, next, the grist mill, kept by Truem Wright, as jolly a chap as one would care to meet in the course of a day's travel. The last building, save some houses, before the boys came to the turn of the road, was the public inn or tavern, which bore the name "The Pine Tree. Abe Crownheart, Proprietor," in big faded blue letters over the door.

It was still early in the day, but nearly all the people in Cardiff seemed to be up and about. The men and women whom Adrian met nodded or spoke to him, and glanced rather curiously at Roger, for strangers were not common in town. A walk of half a mile brought the boys to the cross-road, and they went down that some distance before Adrian indicated the place where they were to cut across lots to reach the creek. Through the fields they went, most of the land they found themselves travelling over having been given up to the raising of corn, which was now gathered in shocks, ready to be husked, leaving the heavy brown stubble sticking out of the earth.

"Don't know's we'll have much luck to-day," said Adrian, rather dubiously, as he wet his finger and held it up in the air to note which side felt coolest, and so determine the direction of the breeze.

"Why not?"

"South wind."

"What's that got to do with fishing?"

"Lots. Didn't you ever hear that? Why we never go fishing if the wind's south. It wasn't there when we started, but I guess it shifted. There's a verse that says: 'When the wind's in the west the fish bite best; when the wind's in the south it blows the hook out their mouth.' But maybe we'll get a few."

"I hope so, after all our work," said Roger.

"If I don't, it won't be the first time, for me," added Adrian, as though to prepare for the worst.

They tramped for half a mile more, and then, turning down a well-beaten path, Adrian led the way to an opening amid a grove of willow trees, along the edge of the creek. The stream, which was broad and deep here, curved around from a point, and formed an eddy that had eaten quite a distance into the bank. This eddy was used as a swimming hole by the boys of the village, but now the water was a little too cool for that sport, so the fish were not disturbed in what Adrian knew was one of their favorite haunts.

It did not take long to rig the lines on the poles, bait the hooks, and cast in. Though Roger never had much chance to go fishing in the city, the necessity of keeping quiet was apparent to him, and he moved about as slowly and as easily as he could, standing in a place Adrian had pointed out. Then he softly dropped the hook, with the wiggling, dangling worm, into the water. Adrian did likewise, and then the boys began to exercise that patience which all good fishermen are supposed to be blessed with.

Roger felt a little tired from the tramp, and, after he had stood for several minutes, he ventured to sit down on a piece of drift-wood that was on the edge of the bank. Adrian, not feeling the strain of walking, preferred to stand. It was very quiet along the edge of the creek, screened as it was by the fringe of willows. Now and then a late-staying bird, that had not yet flown south, darted in and out among the trees. The dried cornstalks rustled in the wind, and there was a pleasant smell in the air. Altogether it was a most delightful place to fish.

"I've got a bite," whispered Adrian, suddenly, and Roger noticed his cousin's line trembling and shaking just where it entered the water. "Watch me pull him out," went on Adrian softly.

The next instant he yanked his pole high in the air, and, dangling on the end of the line, twisting and flopping so that its silvery sides reflected the sun, was a good-sized fish. Roger leaped to his feet to see the catch, which his cousin landed on the ground with a thud. He started back to where the prize lay on the grassy bank, and then he felt something give way beneath him. He seemed to be falling down, and in desperation he clutched wildly at the air. He heard Adrian shouting, as though he was miles away, and the next he knew the waters of the creek closed above his head. A part of the bank where he had been sitting had broken off, and carried him into the stream with a splash of the deep water.

Roger thought he would never stop sinking down and down into the pool, and, though at this point it was only about ten feet deep, the boy imagined it must be three times that. He had kept hold of the pole when he fell, and he dimly knew that his hands still grasped it as he tried to strike out and spring to the surface. It was black as night all around him, and the waters roared and sang in his ears.

For a half minute Adrian was so frightened by his cousin's disappearance he did not know what to do. He felt sure Roger would be drowned, and, already, he was charging himself with the responsibility for it.

Then a determination to save him came into the boy's mind. With a quick motion he peeled off his coat, cast aside his cap, and, with his knife, rapidly slit the laces of his shoes, as the easiest and most expeditious way of undoing them. He kicked the leathers from him, leaped to the edge of the bank, and was about to dive into the water when he saw Roger's head bob up.

"Don't be afraid!" called Adrian. "I'll save you!"

He poised for the spring, but, to his surprise, instead of seeing Roger helplessly floundering in the creek, he noticed that his cousin was calmly treading water to keep himself afloat, for it was hard to swim weighed down by clothes and shoes.

"Look out! Here I come!" cried Adrian.

"D-don't