“The—the turkle’s—got hold of my toe yet and he won’t let go!” Freddie sobbed.
There was a plank on the edge of the pond, and, pushing this out into the water, Mrs. Bobbsey stepped on it until she could reach the little boy without getting her own feet wet. She put her arms around Freddie and lifted him from the water. That is, she tried to lift him, but at first he did not come.
“He’s stuck in the mud!” shouted Flossie.
“It’s my foot! The turkle has hold of it!” screamed Freddie.
“It must be a very large turtle!” gasped Mrs. Bobbsey. But she did not really believe that a turtle had hold of the little boy’s foot, though he certainly was held fast.
She gave another pull, and this time Freddie came up in her arms. Something was dangling from one foot. At the sight of it Flossie, on the bank, set up a shout.
“Oh, it isn’t a turkle after all!” cried the little girl. “It’s a big jug!”
And so it was. Freddie, wading about in the pond, had stuck his big toe in the mouth of a brown jug that some one had thrown into the duck pond. The jug had stuck to the little boy’s foot, and to him it seemed exactly as if a “turkle” had him.
As Mrs. Bobbsey raised Freddie up in her arms, the jug fell from his toe and splashed back into the pond.
“There goes your turtle,” said his mother. “My! what a time you’ve had! You shouldn’t have gone in wading, Flossie and Freddie!”