“But I don’t like to have you all alone,” Nat would say, sorrowfully.
“I like it;” and Dan would tramp away, stifling a sigh sometimes, for he was lonely.
Passing through the birch grove one day, he came upon several of the boys, who were amusing themselves by climbing up the trees and swinging down again, as the slender elastic stems bent till their tops touched the ground. Dan paused a minute to watch the fun, without offering to join in it, and as he stood there Jack took his turn. He had unfortunately chosen too large a tree; for when he swung off, it only bent a little way, and left him hanging at a dangerous height.
“Go back; you can’t do it!” called Ned from below.
Jack tried, but the twigs slipped from his hands, and he could not get his legs round the trunk. He kicked, and squirmed, and clutched in vain, then gave it up, and hung breathless, saying helplessly,—
“Catch me! help me! I must drop!”
“You’ll be killed if you do,” cried Ned, frightened out of his wits.
“Hold on!” shouted Dan; and up the tree he went, crashing his way along till he nearly reached Jack, whose face looked up at him, full of fear and hope.
“You’ll both come down,” said Ned, dancing with excitement on the slope underneath, while Nat held out his arms, in the wild hope of breaking the fall.
“That’s what I want; stand from under,” answered Dan, coolly; and, as he spoke, his added weight bent the tree many feet nearer the earth.