“No, no, don’t you touch the gun,” answered Joe hastily.
Presently the little children began to pick up the chips of wood. These they carried to the stream, and tossed them in to see them float away.
“That’s a waste of good chips,” said Harry. Then he continued to one of the little boys: “Here, Freddy, you go to the house, and get a basket for those chips. Your mother will want them for the fire.”
At once Freddy started off, and all of the others but little Mary went with him. The little girl continued to throw chips into the stream, a proceeding that seemed to interest her very much.
The three trees were now almost down, and the young pioneers worked with a will to complete their day’s labor in the forest. Harry’s tree came down first, and Darry’s was quick to follow. Joe had five minutes more of work, and went at it with renewed energy.
Just as the third tree came down a scream from the river bank startled all three of the boys.
“It’s Mary Pembly!” cried Darry.
Darry was right; the scream had come from the little girl. She had ventured too close to the water, her feet had slipped, and down she had gone, over her head.
The current was swift, and by the time the boys reached the water-front the little girl was fully fifty feet away. She had come to the surface, and was spluttering and crying wildly.
“Take me out!” she cried. “I don’t like the nasty water!”