CHAPTER II. THE SMASH AT THE BRIDGE. During the conversation recorded above, Ralph had been at work in the dooryard of the cottage, while his mother was busy tying up the honeysuckle vines which grew over the porch. It was a bright summer day, with a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest. "There's a sloop coming up Silver Lake, Ralph!" cried his mother, presently, as she looked across the water from the cottage porch. "I guess you will have to open the bridge." "I haven't heard any horn," returned Ralph, as he dropped his rake and ran up to look at the craft. "Nor I. But the boat is heading for the draw." "Perhaps it's one of those summer-boarder pleasure parties, that don't know anything about blowing for a bridge tender," said the son, after a few seconds of silence. "I'll go down and make sure." Ralph was as good as his word. Leaving the door, he walked rapidly along a footpath which led directly to the bridge, arriving there in less than a minute and a half. As he walked on the bridge a carriage from Eastport, containing several ladies, came over. They paid the toll to Bob Sanderson, an old man who helped Ralph in this way during the slack hours of the day. In return for the work Sanderson was allowed an attic room and board at the Nelson cottage. "Sixteen cents since you went away, Ralph," said Sanderson, as he handed over the amount in pennies. "Ain't many folks out this morning." "There will be more toward noon, Mr. Sanderson. Travel is always light between nine and eleven." "That's so. My! but there's a stiff breeze a-blowin', ain't there?" "Yes. If it keeps on we'll have a regular gale by night." "What brought you back so soon? I thought you was goin' to whitewash your side fence?" "I came down to see if that sloop wanted to go through. It's sailing right for the draw." "They didn't blow no horn." "Perhaps they don't know enough for that. I declare! What's he up to now?" went on Ralph, a second later. He had espied a single man standing in the stern of the sloop. The man had commenced to work at the mainsail, the managing of which appeared to bother him not a little. "He don't seem to know the ropes," returned Bob Sanderson. "I guess he's tryin' to lower sail and can't." "He is carrying too much canvas for this breeze." "I agree with you, Ralph. But most of them chaps with sloops are a daring set. They always want to sail at racing speed." "He wants to go through that draw, that's certain," responded Ralph. Going into the little house at the end of the bridge, he got out the key and the handle-bar. He unlocked the chain which held the end of the bridge in position, and then inserting the bar into the turnpost or capstan, began to walk around with it. Slowly but surely the bridge began to swing loose from the side which connected with the permanent portion on the Eastport end and moved toward the solid foundation which was built directly in front of where the Nelson dooryard ran down to the water's edge.