Josiah Socket was willing enough to follow the advice given, and he plunged into the mud. His wife was doubtful about trusting herself on his shoulder, but at last took the seat with many cautions.
"If ye slip down, Josiah Socket, I'll never forgive ye," she declared. "Never, in all this wide world!"
"I ain't a-goin' to slip down," he muttered, stubbornly, and he did not. Soon the lady was safe by the side of the trail and so were the two girls, Maybe Dixon bringing over one and Bob the younger miss.
"I feel like leaving the blamed outfit where it is," grumbled Josiah Socket, in deep disgust. "I'm sick o' emigratin' to Californy."
"Don't leave it where it is," said Maybe Dixon. "If so, maybe 'twill sink through to Chiny."
"I think we can help haul you out," said Bob. "Come, Mark, help splice a rope on here, and we'll tow his bark out of that hole in jig time."
The rope was produced and made fast to the back of the boys' wagon, and horses and mule were started up. The boys hauled and so did the men, and at last, with a deep sound of suction, the Socket outfit came up out of the mud-hole and was dragged to a spot that was high and dry.
"Good fer you!" cried Josiah Socket, his face brightening wonderfully, now that the difficulty was over. "Tell ye wot, many hands make short work, don't they?"
"I'll reward you boys," said Mrs. Socket. "I'm going to bake to-morrow—pervidin' it don't rain,—and I'll give you some fresh loaves of bread."
"Good enough!" cried Mark. "I've been longing for fresh bread—the real kind, I mean, since we left Si's home."