e Ed all this time had been sunning himself on the bank, when
suddenly he uttered a shout of warning. We were right at the mouth of
the mill-race. For the moment we forgot about Dutchy, and swam out for
shore. Before we realized it Dutchy was caught in the current, and was
being swept full tilt down the stream. My but wasn't he scared. I can
see him yet clinging for dear life to the plank, his face the color of
ashes and his eyes bulging out in terror. First he tried to make for the
bank, but the water was so swift that when the front end of the board
struck land the rear end swung around in a circle, carrying him on
again, but backward this time, before we could reach him. Two or three
more times the plank struck the bank and turned him around, while we
raced along the high bank, scrambling down to catch him every time he
headed for shore, but each time just missing him. Then he swung out past
the Tiger's Tail into the open river just above the rapids. Fortunately
he was going along headforemost this time, and Uncle Ed, who had just
arrived, panting and breathless, from running, shouted to him to keep
his head and steer for a narrow opening between two jutting boulders. I
don't know whether Dutchy did any steering or not, but the raft shot
straight through the opening, and was lost in a cloud of spray. In a
moment he reappeared below the rapids, paddling like mad for a neck of
land on the Pennsylvania side of the river.

Dutchy would never own up that he was afraid. He never told a lie under
other circumstances, but when it came to a question of courage he had
the habit of stretching facts to the very limit. Even in this case, he
said that he started out with the idea of shooting the rapids, and if we
hadn't flustered him so, he would not have bumped into the bank and
turned about so many times. Dutchy was a very glib talker. He nearly
persuaded us that it was all done intentionally, and his thrilling
account of the wild dash between the rocks and through the shower of
spray stirred us up so that we all had to try the trick too.

SHOOTING THE RAPIDS.

The next day, while Uncle Ed was taking a nap, we stole off to the upper
end of Lake Placid, each one towing a plank. We needn't have been so
afraid of Uncle Ed, for we found out later that he intended to try a
plank ride through the rapids himself next time he went in swimming.
Down Lake Placid we paddled in single column to the mill-race. In a
moment the current had