"You hadn't better," said Flossie. "Mamma mightn't like it."
"I'll tell her how nice it was when I get home," said the little fellow, "and then she'll say it was all right. Come on, Flossie."
"No, I've got clean white stockin's on and I don't want to get 'em all dirty."
"Huh! They've got some dirt on 'em now."
"Well, they aren't wet and they'd get wet if I went in wading."
"Not if you took 'em off."
"Yes they would, 'cause I never can get my feet dry on the grass like you do. You go in wading, Freddie, and I'll sit here an' watch you."
So Freddie stepped into the cool water and shouted with glee. Then he waded out a little farther and soon a queer look came over his face. Flossie saw her brother sink down until the brook came up to the lower edge of his knickerbockers, wetting them, while Freddie cried:
"Oh, I'm caught! I'm caught. Flossie, help me! I'm caught!"