Chapter 7

           Getup!Whatyou’bout?"

           Iopenedmyeyesandlookedaround,tryingtomakeoutwhereIwas.Itwasaftersun-up,andIhadbeensoundasleep.Papwasstandingovermelookingsourandsick,too.Hesays:

           "Whatyoudoin’withthisgun?"

           Ijudgedhedidn’tknownothingaboutwhathehadbeendoing,soIsays:

           "Somebodytriedtogetin,soIwaslayingforhim."

           "Whydidn’tyouroustmeout?"

           "Well,Itriedto,butIcouldn’t;Icouldn’tbudgeyou."

           "Well,allright.Don’tstandtherepalaveringallday,butoutwithyouandseeifthere’safishonthelinesforbreakfast.I’llbealonginaminute."

           Heunlockedthedoor,andIclearedoutuptheriver-bank.Inoticedsomepiecesoflimbsandsuchthingsfloatingdown,andasprinklingofbark;soIknowedtheriverhadbeguntorise.IreckonedIwouldhavegreattimesnowifIwasoveratthetown.TheJuneriseusedtobealwaysluckforme;becauseassoonasthatrisebeginsherecomescordwoodfloatingdown,andpiecesoflograftssometimesadozenlogstogether;soallyouhavetodoistocatchthemandsellthemtothewood-yardsandthesawmill.

           Iwentalongupthebankwithoneeyeoutforpapandt’otheroneoutforwhattherisemightfetchalong.Well,allatonceherecomesacanoe;justabeauty,too,aboutthirteenorfourteenfootlong,ridinghighlikeaduck.

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