Sunny Boy waited, but it did not turn again. He blew on it gently, and still it did not move. Then he ran over to the big tree nearest him and picked up a stick.
“I’ll fix it,” he said aloud. “Grandpa’ll be surprised if I get it mended ’fore he comes.”
Well, as it turned out, Grandpa was surprised, but not as much as Sunny Boy. He leaned over, and jabbed the obstinate wheel with his stick; the dry end of the stake snapped, and Sunny Boy, stick and all, tumbled head-first into the water. In after him leaped a flash of brown and white—good old Bruce!
The water was very cold, and when Sunny had swallowed some of it and shaken some from his eyes, he scrambled to his feet crying bitterly. He thought he was freezing to death. Bruce pulled at his coat and tried to drag him back, and it was his frantic barking that attracted Jimmie’s notice. He came tearing across the meadow, followed by Grandpa.
“There—there—you’re all right,” said Jimmie, as he pulled the little boy out in a jiffy. “Don’t cry so, Brother, you’re only frightened. How’d it happen?”
“The wheel stopped!” sobbed Sunny Boy. “An’ I tried to fix it. I was going to s’prise Grandpa.”
“So you did,” admitted Jimmie, while Bruce circled around them, barking madly. “Now we’ll have to look out that you don’t surprise us more by catching cold from this ducking.”