"See, mamma," said Rob, as he dipped in the pail, and drew it out dripping full, "see how nice this is. I can bring you all the water you want." "Take care! take care, Rob!" shouted his father, as Rob stepped back on the plank. He was too late. Rob in his excitement had stepped a little to one side of the middle of the plank; it tipped; he lost his balance, and over he went, pail of water and all, into the brook. The brook was not deep, and he scrambled out again in less than a minute,--much mortified and very wet. Mrs. March could not help laughing. "Well, you helped fill the brook instead of my pail; didn't you?" she said. "But, mamma, I haven't got any dry clothes," said poor Rob: "what'll I do?" "That's a fact, Rob," said his mother. "You'll have to go to bed while these dry." "Oh, dear!" said Rob; "that's too bad!" And he walked very disconsolately toward the house. Zeb was just riding off, with two empty sacks hanging from his saddle pommel. "Zeb," called Rob; "I tumbled in the brook; and I've got to go to bed till my clothes are dry." "Don't you do no such a thing," cried Zeb; "you jest walk round a leetle lively, and your clothes'll be dry afore ye know it. Water don't wet ye much in this country." "Come, now, Zeb," said the Deacon, "let's draw a line somewhere! That's a little too big a story. I can believe ye about the snow's not making mud, because I've seen these hailstones just melt away into nothin' in half an hour; but when it comes to water's not wettin', I can't go that." "Well, you just feel of me now!" shouted Rob; "I'm half dry already!" The Deacon and Mrs. March both felt Rob's arms and shoulders. "'Pon my word, they ain't so very wet," said the Deacon; "was it only just now you tumbled in?" "Not five minutes ago," said Mrs. March. "It is certainly the queerest thing I ever saw," she continued, feeling Rob from his shoulders to his ankles: "he is really, as he says, half dry. I'll try Zeb's advice. Rob, run up and down the road as hard as you can for ten minutes; don't you stand still at all." Rob raced away, with Watch at his heels, and Mr. and Mrs. March walked into the house, Mr. March carrying the pail filled once more with the nice spring water. In a few minutes, as they were busily at work, they heard a sound at the door: they looked up; there stood a white cow, looking in on them with a mild expression of surprise. "Oh!" said Mr. March, "Zeb said the cows'd be coming home pretty soon. The Deacon and I'll have to milk." "Yes, they're a comin'," called out the Deacon, peering over the back of the white cow, and pushing her gently to one side, so that he could enter the door; "they're a comin' down the road, and down the hill up there back o' the sawmill: I jest wish ye'd come and look at 'em. Don't know as ye'd better, either, if ye want to have a good appetite for your supper! If ever ye see Pharaoh's lean kine, ye'll see 'em now."