"I'll get him!" cried Teddy, as he caught his breath. Then he wiped some of the water from his face, and dashed on down the brook. But by this time the packing box, in which Trouble was taking more of a ride than he had counted on, was some distance down the brook. However, Mrs. Martin was keeping alongside of it, though it was beyond even the reach of her long stick.
"If we were on the other side you could reach him and pull him to shore, Mother!" called Janet.
"Oh, I must get over on the other side—but the brook is deep here!" said Mrs. Martin. She was going to forget that, however, and splash in, when the box, by some twist of the current, suddenly floated near the bank along which she was running.
"Grab it—quick!" cried Janet.
"Let me get it—I'm coming!" shouted Teddy, and, indeed, he was splashing his way down the brook, but some distance behind his little brother.
"Oh, det me out! My hoots is awful wet!" wailed the small chap in the packing-box boat.
And just then Mrs. Martin was able to reach out her stick, hook one end of it over the edge of the box and pull it to shore.
"You poor little fellow! Was mother's Trouble frightened to pieces?" murmured Mrs. Martin as she lifted her youngest out of the box, and, never minding his wet feet, hugged him tightly. The packing box drifted off downstream, Skyrocket racing after it and barking as though it was the best joke in the world. "Were you frightened, William?" murmured his mother.
Trouble looked at her, and then at the floating box.
"I had a nice wide, but my hoots is all wet," he announced.