A Blundering Boy: A Humorous Story

by Bruce Weston Munro

At this the reader may think that we are trifling with his feelings; imposing on his credulity;—he may even refuse to believe in the existence of so extraordinary a river. Never mind. But if the reader wishes to enjoy these pages he will refuse to listen to the dictates of reason, and look on this story as an orthodox romance.

In winter there was another attraction, that of skating, the danger of which was a continual source of uneasiness to parents whose youth, agility, and frolicsomeness had long before given place to gray hairs, clumsiness, and sober-mindedness.

As the proprietors of the land along the river were generous-hearted men, the river was free to all people, and was an actual paradise for boys and picnickers.

Although further remarks might be made about this river, it is not necessary to make them here. It is sufficient to add that as the reader proceeds, he will observe how admirably this river is adapted to the exigencies of the story.

This was the state of affairs in Will’s boyhood. But, alas! all has changed since that time. A foreign aristocrat has bought up all the land along the river, which he has fenced in, stocked with fish and beautified—perhaps, disfigured—with sundry little wharfs, capes, bays, stretches of “pebbly beach,” and floating islands. In conspicuous places notices may be seen, beginning with “No Trespassing” and winding up with the amount of the fine imposed on all persons “caught lurking within the limits.” Consequently, the urchins of to-day, despoiled of this haunt, have to content themselves with damaging the notices and slinging stones at the swans that sail gracefully up and down the river.

There were also smaller streams in the neighborhood, one being in Mr. Lawrence’s farm.

To the left of the village stood an extensive grove, swarming with squirrels, birds, insects, and, of course, mosquitoes. In this grove the heroes of this story whiled away many a happy hour; and when not on the river they might generally be found here.

The lake also was a favorite resort, and on its broad surface they sailed or rowed hither and thither; always getting wet, often narrowly escaping death. Sometimes their joyous hearts were elated with a ride on a tug; but when hard pressed they made almost anything serve them for a boat. As naturally as a duck takes to water, Will and his associates took to making little ships, which excited the admiration of all beholders—sometimes on account of their beauty, but generally on account of their liability to float stern foremost, with the masts at an angle of twenty degrees.

Then there was the school-house,—a fanciful, yet imposing edifice, the grained and polished jambs of whose mullioned windows had suffered from the ravages rather of jack-knives than of time,—built in a retired quarter of the village, and to the boys’ entire satisfaction, quite close to the river.

If Will wished to go to the wharf he could walk thither in less than half-an-hour; to the depot in ten minutes; to the school,—well, in from twenty to forty minutes. To Mrs. Lawrence’s delight, it was nearly two miles from their house to the falls. She had not the heart to forbid Will’s going thither, but she fondly hoped that the distance would not permit him to go very often; for, according to her view of the matter, water and danger are synonymous.