William rolled over on his elbow and caught his breath with an effort.
"Silence!" he shouted. "Where's that fishing-rod?"
"You's done gwine ter ketch a fishin'-rod," said the old man. "Look at your brudder George, 'most drownded; I spec you dared him to jump in."
George managed to look up. "No," he said; "I went in by myself."
The old man, muttering and grumbling, stepped over to the boys, and stood both of them on their feet. It was all that either could do to keep his balance; but at last, they looked at one another, and William half laughed.
"Oh, won't we catch it when Aunt Clarissa sees us!" he exclaimed.
At this, Grace, looking toward the bridge, called out, excitedly, the tears still running down her cheeks, "There's Mr. Wyeth! There he is at last! And, look! there's some one with him. It must be our Uncle Daniel!"
She pointed up the road. Little clouds of dust rose here and there through the trees, and two thick figures, each mounted on a steadily plodding gray nag, were seen riding down the hill.
"Come on, we'll meet them," said William, and taking his brother's hand, they walked out into the meadow with as much dignity as two small dripping figures could assume.