are not likely to accomplish anything by hunting in this aimless
fashion."

"What better can we do?" asked Mr. Kilgore.

"Thus far we have been forced to confine ourselves to the road,
excepting when we diverge a few feet: this renders our work about the
same as if done by a single person. What I propose, therefore, is that
we separate."

"How will that help us?"

"It may not, but we shall cover three or four times the amount of space
(I judge Mrs. Ribsam would prefer to remain with her husband and son on
account of the single lantern), and it follows that some one of us must
pass closer to the spot where Nellie is lying."

This seemed a sensible suggestion, and the two men turned to the
afflicted father to learn what he thought of it.

He shook his head.

"Not yet,--not yet; we goes a leetle furder."

Nothing was added by way of explanation, and yet even little Nick knew
why he had protested: he wished that all might keep together until they
reached the creek. If nothing was learned of his child there, then he
would follow the plan of the teacher.

But something seemed to whisper to the parent that the place where they
would gain tidings of little Nellie was near that dark, flowing water,
which, like such streams, seemed to be always reaching out for some one
to strangle in its depths.

"Perhaps Mr. Ribsam is right," said the teacher, after a silence which
was oppressive even though brief; "we will keep each other's company,
for it is lonely work tramping through the woods, where there is no
beaten path to follow."

Thereupon the strange procession resumed its march toward the distant
town of Dunbarton, pausing at short intervals to call and signal to the
missing one.

It was a vast relief to all that the weather continued so mild and
pleasant. In the earlier part of the day there were some signs of an
approaching storm, but the signs had vanished and the night was one of
the most pleasant seen in September.

Had the rain begun to fall, or had the temperature lowered, the mother
would have been distracted, for nothing could have lessened the pangs
caused by her knowledge that her darling one was suffering. The true
mother lives for her children, and their joys and sorrows are hers.

Whenever the wind rustled among the branches around them she shuddered
and instinctively drew her own shawl closer about her shoulder; she
would have given a year's toil could she have wrapped the thick woolen
garment about the tiny form of her loved one, who never seemed so dear
to her as then.

"Gustav," she whispered, twitching his elbow, "I want to speak one word
to you."

"Speak out; they cannot understand us," he answered, alluding to the
fact that they were using their own language.

"Yes, but I don't want Nick to know what I say."

The husband thereupon fell back beside her, and in a tremulous voice she
said:

"Do you remember when Nellie was three years old?"

"Of course I remember further back than that: why do you ask?"

"When she had the fever and was getting well?"

"Yes, I cannot forget it; poor girl, her cheeks were so hot I could
almost light a match by them; but, thank God, she got over it."

"You remember, Gustav, how cross she was and how hard it was to please
her?"

"But that was because she was sick; when she was well, then she laughed
all the time, just like Nick when he don't feel bad."

"But--but," and there was an unmistakable tremor in the voice, "one day
when she was cross she asked for a drink of water; Nick was sitting in
the room and jumped up and brought it to her, but she was so out of
humor she shook her head and would not take it from him; she was
determined I should hand it to her. I thought she was unreasonable and I
told Nick to set it on the bureau, and I let Nellie know she shouldn't
have it unless she took it from him; I meant that I wouldn't hand it to
her and thereby humor her impatience. She cried, but she was too
stubborn to give in, and I refused to hand her the water. Nick felt so
bad he left the room, and I was sorry; but Nellie was getting well, and
I was resolved to be firm with her. She was very thirsty, for her fever
was a terrible one. I was tired and dropped into a doze. By-and-by I
heard Nellie's bare feet pattering on the floor, and softly opening my
eyes, without stirring I saw her walk hastily to the bureau, catch hold
of the tumbler and she drank every drop of water in it. She was so weak
and dizzy that she staggered back and threw herself on the bed like one
almost dead. The next day she was worse, and we thought we were going to
lose her. You saw how hard I cried, but most of my tears were caused by
the remembrance of my cruelty to her the night before."

"But, Katrina, you did right," said the father, who heard the affecting
incident for the first time. "It won't do to humor children so much: it
will spoil them."

"That may be, but I cannot help thinking of that all the time; it would
have done no harm to humor Nellie that time, for she was a good girl."

"You speak truth, but--"

The poor father, who tried so bravely to keep up, broke down and was
unable to speak. The story touched him as much as it did the mother.

"Never mind, Katrina--"

At that moment Nick called out:

"Here's the bridge!"

The structure loomed through the gloom as it was dimly lighted by the
lanterns, and all walked rapidly forward until they stood upon the rough
planking.

Suddenly the mother uttered a cry, and stooping down snatched up
something from the ground close to the planks.

The startled friends looked affrightedly toward her, and saw that she
held the lunch basket of her little daughter in her hand.




CHAPTER VIII.

STARTLING FOOTPRINTS.


On the very edge of the bridge over Shark Creek, the mother of Nellie
Ribsam picked up the lunch basket which her daughter had taken to school
that morning. It lay on its side, with the snowy napkin partly out, and
within it was a piece of brown bread which the parent had spread with
golden butter, and which was partly eaten.

No wonder the afflicted woman uttered a half-suppressed scream when she
picked up what seemed a memento of her dead child.

While the lanterns were held in a circle around the basket, which the
father took from his wife, Mr. Ribsam lifted the piece of bread in his
hand. There were the prints made by the strong white teeth of little
Nellie, and there was not a dry eye when all gazed upon the food, which
the father softly returned to the basket and reverently covered with the
napkin.

No one ventured to speak, but the thoughts of all were the same.

Stepping to the railing at the side of the bridge Mr. Layton held his
lantern over, Nick and Mr. Kilgore immediately doing the same. The rays
extended right and left and far enough downward to reach the stream,
which could be seen, dark and quiet, flowing beneath and away through
the woods to the big pond, a quarter of a mile below.

In the oppressive stillness the soft rustling of the water was heard as
it eddied about a small root which grew out from the shore, and a tiny
fish, which may have been attracted by the yellow rays, leaped a few
inches above the surface and fell back with a splash which startled
those who were peering over the railing of the structure.

The trees grew close to the water's edge, and as the trunks were dimly
revealed they looked as if they were keeping watch over the deep creek
that flowed between.

The five were now searching for that which they did not wish to find;
they dreaded, with an unspeakable dread, the sight of the white face
turned upward, with the abundant hair floating about the dimpled
shoulders.

Thank heaven, that sight was spared them; nothing of the kind was seen,
and a sigh escaped from each.

"We are all tortured by the thought that Nellie has fallen into the
creek and been drowned," said the teacher; "but I cannot see any grounds
for such fear."

The yearning looks of the parents and brother caused the teacher to
explain more fully.

"No child, unless a very stupid one, would stumble from this bridge, and
there could have been no circumstances which in my judgment would have
brought such a mishap to Nellie."

This sounded reasonable enough, but:

"De basket,--vot of dot?" asked the father.

"She has dropped that from some cause; but that of itself is a favorable
sign, for had she fallen accidentally into the water she would have
taken it with her."

This sounded as if true, but it did not remove the fears of any one.
Even he who uttered the words could not bring himself fully to believe
in their truth, for none knew better than he that the evil one himself
seems to conspire with guns and pistols that appear to be unloaded, and
with water which is thought to be harmless.

All wanted to place faith in the declaration, and no protest was
uttered. As nothing was to be seen or learned where they stood, they
crossed the bridge and descended the wooded slope until they reached the
edge of the stream, which wound its way through the woods to the big
pond.

Every heart was throbbing painfully and no one spoke: there was no need
of it, for no comfort could be gained therefrom.

Mr. Layton and Kilgore moved carefully up the creek, while Nick and his
parents walked toward the pond, which lay to the left.

The two wished to be apart from the others that they might consult
without danger of being overheard by those whose hearts were suffering
so much anguish.

"It's very strange," said Mr. Kilgore, "that the basket should be found
on the bridge: what do you make of it, Mr. Layton?"

The teacher shook his head.

"It is strange, indeed; had there been no water in the creek you could
have set it down as certain that the child had not fallen from it, but,
as she could not have done so without drowning, I am inclined to
think--"

The instructor hesitated, as if afraid to pronounce the dreadful words.

"You think she is drowned?" said his friend, supplying the answer with
his own question.

Mr. Layton nodded his head by way of reply, and, holding the lanterns in
front, they began groping their way along the margin of the creek.

By raising the lights above their heads the rays reached the opposite
bank, lighting up the water between. This was unusually clear, and they
could see the bottom some distance from shore.

Both felt that if the body was floating anywhere they could not fail to
see it, though the probabilities were that it was already far below
them, and would be first discovered by the parents and brother.

"Halloa!" suddenly exclaimed Mr. Layton, lowering his lantern close to
the ground, "I don't like _that_."

By way of explanation, he pointed to the damp soil where no vegetation
grew: it was directly in front and close to the water, being that
portion which was frequently swept by the creek when above its present
level.

Parallel to the stream, for a distance of several rods or so, were a
number of imprints in the yielding earth, which the first glance showed
were made by some large animal.

"It must have been a dog," ventured the teacher, who had little
practical knowledge of the animals of the wood.

Mr. Kilgore shook his head.

"It was a bear; there can be no mistake about it. Mr. Marston was right;
it was the track of a similar animal which he saw last March."

"You are not mistaken, Mr. Kilgore?"

The farmer answered impatiently:

"I have hunted bears too often to be mistaken; I can tell their trail
among a hundred others, and the one which went along here a little while
ago was one of the largest of his kind."




CHAPTER IX.

THE LITTLE WANDERER.


Although Nellie Ribsam was only eight years old at the time she was lost
in the big woods, yet the results of the training received from her
sensible father and mother showed themselves in a marked degree on that
memorable occasion.

She had been taught, as was her brother, that under heaven she must rely
upon herself to get forward in the world. Nick was rarely if ever
allowed to extend her a helping hand in her lessons, and she was given
to understand that whatever was possible for her to do must be done
without the aid of any one.

As for sitting down and crying when in trouble, without making any
effort to help herself, she knew better than to try that when either her
father or mother were likely to find it out.

Her intention, when she left school that afternoon before the session
closed, was to keep on in the direction of Dunbarton until she met Nick
returning.

She turned off at the forks, and did not lessen her gait until she
reached the woods. Her rapid walking caused her to feel quite warm, and
the cool shade of the woods was refreshing.

She began wandering aimlessly forward, swinging her hat in her hand,
singing snatches of school songs, and feeling just as happy as a little
girl can feel who is in bounding health, high spirits, and without an
accusing conscience.

It was not the time of year for flowers, and Nellie knew better than to
look for any. They had drooped and died long ago; but some of the leaves
were turning on the trees, and they gave a peculiar beauty to the
autumnal forest.

At intervals she caught sight of the cleanly, symmetrical maple, with
some of its leaves turning a fiery red and looking like flecks of flame
through the intervening vegetation. At the least rustling of the wind
some of the leaves came fluttering downward as lightly as flakes of
snow; the little brown squirrel scampered up the shaggy trunks and out
upon the limbs, where, perching on his hind legs, he peeped
mischievously down at the girl, as if inviting her to play hide-and-seek
with him; now and then a rabbit, fat and awkward from his gluttony on
the richness around him, jumped softly a few steps, then munched rapidly
with his jaws, flapped his long silken ears, looked slyly around with
his big, pretty eyes, and, as the girl made a rush toward him, he was
off like a shot.

The woods were fragrant with ripening grapes and decaying vegetation,
and were putting on a garb whose flaming splendor surpassed the hues of
spring.

Indeed, everything conspired to win a boy or girl away from study or
work, and to cause the wish on the part of both that they might be a
bird or squirrel, with no thought of the responsibilities of life.

Nellie Ribsam forgot for the time everything else except her own
enjoyment; but by-and-by the woods took on such tempting looks that she
turned off from the highway she had been following, with the intention
of taking a stroll, which she meant should not lead her out of sight of
the road.

The first view which stopped her was that of a large vine of wild
grapes.

Some of them were green, some turning, while others were a dark purple,
showing they were fully ripe: the last, as a matter of course, were at
the top.

These wild grapes were small and tart, inferior to those which grew in
the yard of Nellie at home; but they seemed to be trying to hide in the
woods, and they were hard to get, therefore they were more to be desired
than the choicest Catawba, Isabella, or Concord.

The main vine, where it started from the ground, was as thick as a man's
wrist, and it twisted and wound about an oak sapling as if it were a
great African constrictor seeking to strangle the young tree. Other
vines branched out from the sides until not only was the particular
sapling enfolded and smothered, but the greedy vine reached out and
grasped others growing near it.

Nellie felt like the fox who found the grapes more tempting the longer
he looked at them.

"I'm going to have some of them," she said, and straightway proceeded to
help herself.

She climbed as readily as Nick himself could have done, and never
stopped until she was so high that the sapling bent far over with her
weight. Then she reached out her chubby hand and plucked a cluster of
the wild fruit. They were about the size of buckshot, and when her sound
teeth shut down on them, the juice was so sour that she shut both eyes
and felt a twinge at the crown of her head as though she had taken a
sniff of the spirits of ammonia.

But the grapes were none the less delicious for all that; the fact that
there seemed to be something forbidden about them added a flavor that
nothing else could give.

Nellie had managed to crush a handful of the vinegar-like globules, when
she caught sight of another vine deeper in the woods. It was much larger
and climbed fully a dozen yards from the ground, winding in and out
among the limbs of a ridgy beech, which seemed to be forever struggling
upward to get away from the smothering embrace of the vegetable python.

Five minutes later, Nellie was clambering upward like a monkey, never
pausing until the bending tree-top warned her that if she went any
higher it would yield to her weight.

Nellie disposed of one bunch and that was enough: she concluded that she
was not very hungry for grapes and, without eating or even gathering
more, she devoted herself to another kind of enjoyment.

Standing with one foot on a limb and the other on one near it, she
grasped a branch above her and began swaying back and forth, with the
vim and abandon of a child in a patent swing.

The tree bent far over as she swung outward, then straightened up and
inclined the other way as her weight passed over to that side. Any one
looking at the picture would have said that a general smash and giving
away were certain, in which case the girl was sure to go spinning
through the limbs and branches, as though driven forth by the springs
within the big gun which fling the young lady outward just as the
showman touches off some powder.

But a green sapling is very elastic, and, although the one climbed by
Nellie bent back and forth like a bow, it did not give way. Her hair
streamed from her head, and there was a thrilling feeling as the wind
whistled by her ears, and she seemed to be shooting like a bird through
space.

All this was well enough, and it was no more than natural that Nellie
should have forgotten several important facts: she was so far from the
highway that she could not see any one passing over it; the rush of the
wind in her ears shut out sounds that otherwise would have been noticed,
and she had gone so far and had lingered so long by the way that it was
time to look for Nick on his return from Dunbarton, even though he was
later than he expected to be.

It was while she was swinging in this wild fashion that her brother
drove by on his way home, without either suspecting how close they were
to each other.

Nellie displayed a natural, childish thoughtlessness by keeping up this
sport for a half hour longer, when she came down to the ground, simply
because she was tired of the amusement.

Although out of sight of the road she managed to find her way back to it
without trouble. With her lunch basket in hand, she continued in the
direction of Dunbarton, taking several mouthfuls of the bread which had
been left over at noon.

In this aimless manner she strolled forward, stopping now and then to
look at the squirrel or rabbit or the yellow-hued warbler, the noisy and
swift-flying finch, the russet-coated thrush, or dark brown and mottled
woodpecker, as his head rattled against the bark of the tree trunks,
into which he bored in quest of worms.

The first real surprise of the girl came when she reached the bridge.
This proved that she was more than four miles from home, a distance much
greater than she had suspected.

"Where can Nick be?" she asked herself, never once thinking that they
might have missed each other when she was swinging in the tree-top. It
struck her that the day was nearly gone, for she noticed the gathering
twilight diffusing itself through the forest.

"I don't think I will go any farther," she said; "Nick will be along
pretty soon, and I'll wait here for him."

Standing on the bridge and looking down the road and listening for the
sound of the carriage wheels were tiresome to one of Nellie's active
habits, and it was not long before she broke off some of the bread, set
down her lunch basket, and then dropped some crumbs into the water.

As they struck the surface, sending out little rings toward the shore,
several tiny fish came up after the food. Nellie laughed outright, and,
in her eagerness, was careless of how she threw the crumbs, most of
which fell upon the bank.

It occurred to her that she could do better by going down to the edge of
the stream, where she would not mistake her aim.

Childlike, she did not pause to think of the wrong of so doing, for she
ought to have known that her parents never would have consented to such
an act.

Just there, Nellie, like many another little girl, made a great mistake.




CHAPTER X.

IN GREAT DANGER.


A little child is like a butterfly, thinking only of the pleasures of
the moment. Nellie Ribsam came down close to the edge of the creek and
threw some crumbs out upon the surface. In the clear water she could see
the shadowy figures of the minnows, as they glided upward and snapped at
the morsels.

She became so interested in the sport that she kept walking down the
bank of the stream, flinging out the crumbs until there was none left in
her hand; then she debated whether she should go back after her lunch
basket or wait where she was until Nick appeared on the bridge.

"It's a bother to carry the basket with me," she said to herself; "I had
to leave it on the ground when I was after grapes, so I'll wait till
Nick comes, and then I'll call to him. Won't he be scared when he sees
me down here!"

From where she stood, she observed the bridge above her head, and
consequently Nick could look directly down upon her whenever he should
reach the structure.

Nellie felt that she would like to go on down the creek to the big pond
into which it emptied; but she knew better than to do that, for she
would be certain to miss her big brother, and it was already beginning
to grow dark around her.

"I wonder what makes Nick so long," she said to herself, as she sat down
on a fallen tree; "I'm so tired that I never can walk the four miles
home."

She had sat thus only a brief while, when her head began to droop; her
bright eyes grew dull, then closed, and leaning against a limb which put
out from the fallen tree, on which she was sitting, she sank into the
sweet, dreamless sleep of childhood and health.

Had she not been disturbed she would not have wakened until the sun
rose, but at the end of an hour, an involuntary movement of the head
caused it to slip off the limb against which it was resting with such a
shock that instantly she was as wide awake as though it was mid-day.

Ah, but when she sprang to her feet and stared about her in the gloom
she was dreadfully alarmed!

She was quick-witted enough to understand where she was and how it had
all come about. The gibbous moon was directly overhead, and shone down
upon her with unobstructed fullness.

"Nick has gone over the bridge while I was asleep," was her instant
conclusion; "and father and mother will be worried about me."

Her decision as to what she should do could not but be the one
thing--that was to climb back up the bank to the bridge, cross it, and
hurry homeward.

There was a little throbbing of the heart, when she reflected that she
had several miles to travel, most of which was through the gloomy woods;
but there was no hesitation on the part of Nellie, who, but for the
sturdy teaching of her parents, would have crouched down beside the log
and sobbed in terror until she sank into slumber through sheer
exhaustion.

"I have been a bad girl," she said to herself, as she reflected on her
thoughtlessness; "and mother will whip me, for I know she ought to; and
mother always does what she ought to do."

There was no room for doubt in the mind of the child, for she understood
the nature of her parents as well as any child could understand that of
its guardian.

Nellie was some distance below the point where the bridge spanned the
creek, but she could see the dim outlines of the structure as she
started toward it. It seemed higher than usual, but that was because the
circumstances were different from any in which she had ever been placed.

The little one was making her way as best she could along the stream in
the direction of the bridge, when she was frightened almost out of her
senses by hearing a loud, sniffing growl from some point just ahead of
her.

It was a sound that would have startled the bravest man, and Nellie was
transfixed for the moment. She did not turn and run, nor did she sink in
a swoon to the ground, but she stood just where she had stopped, until
she could find out what it meant.

She was not kept long in waiting, for in less than a minute the noise
was repeated, and at the same moment she caught the outlines of a huge
black bear swinging along toward her. He was coming down the bed of the
creek, with his awkward, ponderous tread, and when seen by Nellie was
within fifty feet of her.

When it is remembered that he was of unusual size and proceeding
straight toward the child, it seems impossible that she should have done
anything at all to help herself. The sight was enough to deprive her of
the power of motion and speech.

But it was in such a crisis as this that little Nellie Ribsam showed
that she had not forgotten the teaching of her parents: "God helps them
that help themselves."

With scarcely a second's pause, she whirled on her heel and dashed down
the stream with the utmost speed at her command.

The bear could not have failed to see her, though it is not to be
supposed that he was looking for the little girl when he first came
that way. Furthermore, had the chase lasted several minutes Nellie must
have fallen a victim to the savage animal.

It required no instruction to teach her that there was but one way in
which she could escape, and that was by climbing a tree. Had there been
a large one near at hand she would have ascended that as quickly as
possible; but, fortunately, the first one to which she fled was a
sapling, no larger than those she had climbed during the afternoon, and
no one could have clambered to the highest point attainable quicker than
did the frightened little girl.

Had she been a veteran hunter, Nellie could not have made a better
selection, for she was fully twenty feet from the ground, and as much
beyond the reach of the bear as though she were in her trundle-bed at
home.

But the position was a frightful one to her, and for several minutes she
believed the animal would tear the tree down and destroy her.

"I have done all I can for myself," she murmured, recalling the
instruction of her parents, "and now God will do the rest."

Beautiful, trusting faith of childhood! Of such, indeed, is the kingdom
of heaven.

The huge bear, which from some cause or other had ventured from the
recesses of the wood, was but a short distance behind the little
wanderer when she climbed so hastily beyond his reach. He acted as
though he was somewhat bewildered by the unusual scene of a small child
fleeing from him, but nothing is so tempting to pursuit as the sight of
some one running from us, and the brute galloped after Nellie with an
evident determination to capture her, if the thing could be done.

When he found the child had eluded him for the time, he sat down on his
haunches and looked upward, as though he intended to wait till she would
be compelled to descend and surrender herself.

The small tree in which Nellie had taken refuge was several yards from
the edge of the stream, the bank sloping so steeply that the water never
reached the base, excepting during a freshet.

It was a chestnut, whose smooth bark rendered it all the more difficult
to climb, but Nellie went up it as rapidly as a man ascends telegraph
poles with the spikes strapped to his boots.

The bear clawed the bark a little while, as a cat is sometimes seen to
do when "stretching" herself, and it was during these few minutes that
the girl thought nothing could save her from falling into his clutches.

When he ceased, she peered downward through the branches, and could just
see the massy animal near the base of the tree, as if asking himself
what was the next best thing to do.

It will be admitted that the situation of Nellie Ribsam was one in which