Gid was in plain sight now, on the bank, pretending to skip stones. Gid was like a Chinese juggler; he could make believe do one thing, while he was really doing another.
"Quick! Quick! Quick! I shall dro—ow—own!"
Gid took his own time; but as he swam slowly back to his trembling little playmate, he was "rolling a sweet morsel under his tongue," which tasted very much like a silver medal—with the string taken out.
"What d'you go off for?" gasped Willy.
"For fun, you outrageous little ninny!" mumbled Gid, tickling Willy under the arms. "I'm going to get you out, now, and dress you, and send you home to your mother."
"Dress me, I guess!"
"Well, you'd better scamper!" said Gid, hurriedly, as they got into their clothes. "Your mother'll have a fit about you."
"My mother? No, she won't. She don't spect the codfish and mackerel till most supper-time. She said I might play, but she wasn't willing I should play with you, though, Gid Noonin," said little Willy, squeezing the water out of his hair.
"But you did, you little scamp! Now run along home. I can't stop to talk. Got to saw wood."
"Then what made you creep so awful slow when I called to you?" asked Willy, indignantly.