"There, there, Betty, don't feel so badly," and David stroked her hair in a gentle manner. "I'm all right now, so why should you cry?"
"But I can't help it," the girl moaned. "I was sure you would be killed, and I could do nothing to save you."
"Strange," her companion mused, "what started that log just as I was sitting there. It must have been loose and ready to start at the least motion."
"Let us go home," and Betty rose suddenly to her feet. "I don't want to stay here any longer. The place is not like it used to be. I do not feel safe. There seems to be danger everywhere."
Hurrying as fast as possible across the open space and casting apprehensive glances up the bank lest another pole should take a sudden notion to come down, they soon reached the woods beyond.
"There, I feel safer now," Betty panted. "Those poles can't touch us, anyway."
"I did want to see the falls," David replied, "and I am quite disappointed. But I do not feel able to try the trip again as it tires me too much."
"Suppose we ask Mr. Jasper to drive you there," Betty suggested. "I know he will be only too pleased to do it. Isn't it funny we didn't think of that before?"
"That is a good idea," David assented. "Maybe he will do it to-morrow.
But what's the matter, girl?" he demanded, looking with surprise upon
Betty, who had suddenly stopped and was staring down upon the brook
through an opening among the trees.
"Look," she whispered, pointing with her finger, "there is that artist sketching down below. He doesn't know we are here, so let us be as quiet as possible."