Thus urged, Ellen set out upon her perilous journey over the bridge. Slowly and fearfully, and with as much care as possible, she set step by step upon the slippery log. Already half of the danger was passed, when, reaching forward to grasp Nancy's outstretched hand, she missed it — _perhaps_ that was Nancy's fault — poor Ellen lost her balance, and went in head foremost. The water was deep enough to cover her completely as she lay, though not enough to prevent her getting up again. She was greatly frightened, but managed to struggle up first to a sitting posture, and then to her feet, and then to wade out to the shore; though, dizzy and sick, she came near falling back again more than once. The water was very cold; and thoroughly sobered, poor Ellen felt chill enough in body and mind too; all her fine spirits were gone; and not the less because Nancy's had risen to a great pitch of delight at her misfortune. The air rang with her laughter; she likened Ellen to every ridiculous thing she could think of. Too miserable to be angry, Ellen could not laugh, and would not cry, but she exclaimed, in distress — "Oh, what shall I do! I am so cold!" "Come along," said Nancy; "give me your hand; we'll run over to Mrs. Van Brunt's — 'tain't far — it's just over here. There," said she, as they got to the top of the bank, and came within sight of a house standing only a few fields off — "there it is! Run, Ellen, and we'll be there directly." "Who is Mrs. Van Brunt?" Ellen contrived to say, as Nancy hurried her along, "Who is she? — run, Ellen! — why, she's just Mrs. Van Brunt — your Mr. Van Brunt's mother, you know — make haste, Ellen! — we had rain enough the other day; I'm afraid it wouldn't be good for the grass if you stayed too long in one place; hurry! I'm afraid you'll catch cold — you got your feet wet after all, I'm sure." Run they did; and a few minutes brought them to Mrs. Van Brunt's door. The little brick walk leading to it from the courtyard gate was as neat as a pin; so was every thing else the eye could rest on; and when Nancy went in, poor Ellen stayed _her_ foot at the door, unwilling to carry her wet shoes and dripping garments any further. She could hear, however, what was going on. "Hillo! Mrs. Van Brunt," shouted Nancy — "where are you? — oh! Mrs. Van Brunt, are you out of water? — cos if you are I've brought you a plenty; the person that has it don't want it; she's just at the door; she wouldn't bring it in till she knew you wanted it. Oh, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't look so, or you'll kill me with laughing. Come and see! come and see!" The steps within drew near the door, and first Nancy showed herself, and then a little old woman — not very old, either — of very kind, pleasant countenance. "What is all this?" said she, in great surprise. "Bless me! poor little dear! what is this?" "Nothing in the world but a drowned rat, Mrs. Van Brunt, don't you see?" said Nancy.