Presently Horatio crept out, very much crestfallen, and picked up the violin, which in his haste he had dropped.
"Bo," he said, sheepishly, "I never told you about it before, but I am subject to fits. I had one just then. They come on suddenly that way. All my family have them and act strangely at times. I'm sure you don't think for a moment that I was frightened just now."
HE FELL HEADLONG.
"Oh, no, of course not. You merely picked out that briar patch as a good place to have a fit in. Do you always think the world's coming to an end when you are taken that way?"
"We'll go right aboard, Bo; you are a little timid, no doubt, so I'll lead the way." And Horatio stepped out briskly toward the lights and voices and the landing steamer.
A few steps brought them out to the river bank and a full view of the boat that had crept silently around a bend to the woodyard, where it was halting to take on fuel. The gang plank had not been pushed out to the bank as yet, but a white ray of light shot from a small window to the dark shore and looked exactly like a narrow board. The boy and the Bear were both deceived by it, and Horatio in his eagerness to show his bravery did not pause to investigate.
"Take the fiddle, Bo," he said, loftily, "and I'll show you how to get on a boat. You should always be brave, Bosephus."
Bosephus took the instrument and Horatio, with arms extended as a balance, stepped straight out into nothing and vanished. There was a sudden splash, a growl, a scrambling sound in the shallow water and Horatio's head appeared above the bank. Bosephus, at first frightened, was now doubled with laughter.
"Oh, Ratio," he gasped, "how funny of you to try to walk on a moonbeam!"