"But I told you, Tommy—"
"No, you didn't; you haven't told me a thing. You stutter so I can't understand a word."
At the idea of his stuttering, Preston laughed outright; and, during that moment of weakness, was picked up and set astride Tommy's shoulders.
"You set me down," cried Preston, struggling manfully, yet a little glad, perhaps, to think he couldn't possibly help himself.
"Ride away, ride away, Preston shall ride!" sang Tommy, the large, strong fellow, bouncing his burden up and down.
Preston felt like a dry leaf in a whirlpool. You know how it swings round and round; and, every time it swings, it gets nearer and nearer that hungry hole in the middle, where there is no getting out again.
"I can't help it, I can't help it," thought little Preston, as big Tommy jolted him up and down like a bag of meal on horseback.
Well, it is good fun for little boys to go in swimming, I do suppose,—if their parents are willing, if they have somebody to hold them up, and if the water isn't too cold.
At first, Preston almost thought he was having good fun; but very soon it was any thing but that;—why, it was just frightful! for Tommy had actually gone off and left him, and snapped his fingers in his face. Preston couldn't swim any more than a fish-hook. What would become of him? Where was Tommy?