The day after the big rain, Bobby and Rover were down at the Duck Pond.
Bobby would throw a stick out into the middle of the pond and shout, "Get it, Rover."
Rover would jump into the water, swim out to the stick and bring it back in his mouth. Nine times Bobby threw the stick into the pond. Nine times Rover brought it back.
When they had done that long enough, Rover shook himself to get the water out of his coat, and lay down on the bank to dry.
Bobby spied an old raft, lying at one edge of the pond, under the willow tree. "I'll play on the raft," he thought.
It was only a few days since Mother had said, "Never go on the raft, Bobby, unless Father or John is at the pond with you."
"Oh, pshaw!" thought Bobby. "There is no danger; I'll have a little fun."
For some time he was content to keep near the shore, just pushing the raft around a little with a long pole. Then, growing bolder, he thought, "I'll go clear across the pond. Mother will never find it out."
So across the pond he started. Near the middle the water was deeper, so he had to go to the edge of the raft and lean over to make his pole touch bottom.
A little farther, and a little farther, he leaned. The raft began to tip and the first thing Bobby knew, he went head first into the water.