the
presence of the assembled family. It was not large enough to hold more
than two persons safely, but as Uncle John said, if it did well, it
would be an encouragement to build another capable of containing the
whole household, and then, what pleasant trips they might take!

The two boat-builders rowed several times a couple of miles up and down
the river in the course of the week, bringing home, after each
excursion, a tolerable supply of cat-fish. This was an acceptable change
in their diet, for, except when Uncle John killed some venison, which
had as yet only happened once, or Tom shot squirrels enough to broil a
dishfull, their usual dinner was salt pork and hominy.

But a couple of miles up and down did not at all satisfy Tom's desire of
exploration; he wanted to see more of the river, and especially to
discover a short cut by water to Mr. Watson's mill. Uncle John hesitated
to give his consent to going any distance until something more was known
of the currents and difficulties of the stream, so the boy determined to
go alone. One day, therefore, when his father and uncle were chopping
fences in the woods, he unmoored the little boat, and rowed off. The
weather was very fine, and the current rippled gently on between the
beautiful banks, which were now darkly wooded, now smiling with green
prairies and sunny flowers. The sweet clear song of the robin, or the
monotonous tapping of the brilliant crimson-headed woodpecker, alone
broke the stillness of the scene; and after a time, Tom, somewhat
wearied and heated by the exertion of rowing, felt inclined to yield to
the spirit of rest which breathed around. So he laid aside his oars, and
let the boat drift idly on while he refreshed himself with the cold meat
and bread he had provided for the occasion. The current gradually became
stronger, the banks grew rocky and steep--soon large masses of stone
appeared scattered in the river's bed, and the waters dashed noisily
past. Tom roused up at length, and began to wish that he had not
ventured so far; he seized the oars to return, but too late--his single
strength could no longer direct the laboring boat, now hurried along by
the rushing stream. The banks rose steeper--the river narrowed--the
hoarse sound of falling waters was heard, and Tom saw with despair that
he was approaching a terrific cataract. There seemed no escape from
destruction--there was no hope of help from human hand. The boy looked
around with a pale ch