The Brook 



your power soon, the brook looks nasty and wide. 

 Now for it where that old tree is down." 



"Don't," a voice whispered, "not there, not 

 there, the bank gives way, and it's twenty feet 

 across." 



Striving started. The chair ahead had swung 

 around and was pointing. 



"Ride to the right, to the right where the willow 

 is. Ride hard and give him his head when you're 

 there." 



"Never," Striving did not look around. "I'm 

 sure hounds would go across there. We ride as 

 the crow flies, where that old tree is down. If 

 it's twenty feet wide we'll swim." 



The train rumbled across a trestle and fifty feet 

 below, the stream flowed rapidly. 



"There, there's the place, I know I can do it. 

 The landing looks good from here." 



Striving stretched out his arms, his fingers 

 tightly gripped. He was riding the brook. Then 

 instantaneously it passed from view. 



"You see, you see, "he cried, not looking around, 

 "I knew I could do it." 



A ripple of laughter replied and Striving swung 

 swiftly around. The laugh still rippled and 

 Striving turned bright red. He could feel the hot 

 flush creeping up to his hair, he wasn't quite sure 

 whether he was more embarrassed or angry. 



63 



