Plop.
A lazy ripple cut the surface of the stream, and another, and another.
Tommy lifted a warning hand and held his breath.
Yes, sure enough, there was a brown nose stemming the water.
In an instant Tommy was crouching in the reeds, his hand feeling in his pocket, and his small body quivering.
The poet's mouth was open.
Followed a twang, and the whistle of a small projectile, and the rat disappeared. But the stone had not hit him.
"Tommy!" protested the poet.
But his appeal fell on deaf ears, for Tommy was watching the far side of the stream with an anxious gaze. Suddenly the brown nose reappeared.