He seated himself on the outer end of the jutting timber, attached a wriggling worm to the hook that dangled from the brand-new pole, and then, raising the pole to an upright position, proceeded to cast his baited hook to a spot that looked promising. He repeated this casting operation a great many times. Unfortunately, he failed to notice that the outward movement made by his arms and body was producing a curious effect on the log on which he sat. Each time he made a cast, the squared timber, jarred by his exertion, moved forward. Just a scrap at a time, to be sure; but if you have _enough_ scraps, they make inches after a while. When the insecurely fastened log had crept out five inches, it took just one more vigorous cast to finish the business. Roger, a very much surprised young person, went sprawling suddenly into the lake. Straight to the bottom of it, too; while the log, after making the mighty splash that caught Jeannette's attention, floated serenely on top. Jeannette, whose everyday name was Jeanne, promptly wrenched a great fish net that was drying over the low roof of her home from its place, gathered it into her arms, and rushed to the edge of the dock. She was just in time. The boy had come to the surface and was floundering about like a huge turtle. Jeanne threw a large portion of the big net overboard, keeping a firm grasp on what remained. "Hang on to this," she shouted. "Don't pull--just hold on. There! you couldn't sink if you wanted to. Now just keep still--keep _still_; I tell you, and I'll tow you down to that low place where the dock's broken. You can climb up, I guess. Don't be afraid. I've pulled my brother out four times and my sister once--only it wasn't so deep. There, one hand on that plank, one on the net. Put your foot in the crack--that's right. Now give me your hand. There--stand here on my garden and I won't have to water it. My! But you're wet." Roger _was_ wet. But now that he was no longer frightened, he was even angrier than wet. To be saved by a _girl_--a thin little slip of a girl at that--was a fearful indignity. A fellow could stand falling in. But to be saved by a girl! To make it worse, the dock was no longer deserted. There were folks gathering outside the tumble-down shack to look at him. A fat, untidy woman with frowzy reddish hair. A bent old woman with her head tied up in a filthy rag. A small dark man with very bright black eyes. Two staring children. The morning sun made three of the tousled heads blazed like fire. But the boy's wrath blazed even more fiercely. To be saved _by a girl_! And all those staring people watching him drip! It was too much. Without a word of thanks, and with all the dignity that he could muster, plump young Roger marched past the assembled multitude--it seemed like that to him--straight along the dock toward the shore, leaving behind him a wet, shining trail.