“Well, I guess we’ll choose the corn-field this trip,” decided the aeronaut—speaking as if they were used to taking such hazardous rides together. “Now, listen here,” he continued, sharply. “We’re getting close to the ground. Hear the leaves rustling? Look down if you want to, and see. Didn’t I tell you? Pretty soon you’ll be touching the top of the corn. Then I’m going to cut your rope with my knife. It won’t hurt you to drop—you’ve often jumped out of trees and things higher than we’ll be—of course you have.”
How near the ground was! Ned could scarcely believe his eyes. It seemed to be rushing up at them. Below was a large corn-field, the stiff stalks bending in the breeze.
“When I say ‘three,’ I’ll cut,” warned the aeronaut.
“All right,” responded Ned.
The corn stalks just scraped his toes. The aeronaut put his knife against the rope.
“One—two—three!” he cried.
Ned dropped. Crash, crash, thump! He ploughed through the corn, and brought up with his hands buried to the wrists in dirt. But he was safe on earth! Rather, he was safe in earth! It didn’t matter; he was thankful.
Without delaying to unwind the rope, he started to stand up to look for the balloon and the aeronaut. He caught just a glimpse of them, already careening onward, far adown the field, where they had darted when relieved of his weight—and then he sank back with an “Ouch!”
He had sprained his ankle.