“Providence is agin me,” sighed the Captain; “I’m pulled up with a short jerk, in the middle of my kurreer. Well, but,” he continued, musing, “’spose a feller tries on his own hook—no harm in takin’ all the chances—I ain’t in jail, _yet_!” A few yards below the boat landing, there grew out of the bank, an immense water-oak, projecting over the river, at an angle of about forty-five. A huge muscadine vine enwrapped the oak in every part, its branches and tendrils covering it like network. The grapes were now ripe, and hung over the river “In bacchanal profusion,— Purple and gushing.” Betsy allowed the canoe to drop down slowly, just outside of where the tips of the lower branches of the tree dallied with the rippling water. The fruit attracted the Sheriff’s eye and appetite, and reaching out an arm he laid hold of a branch, and began to “pluck and eat.” “Drot the grapes!” said Suggs, angrily; “let’s go on!” “Keep cool,” said the Sheriff, “I’ll fill my pockets first.” “Be in a hurry, then, and if you _will_ gather the sour things, reach up and pull down them big bunches, up thar,” pointing to some fine clusters higher than the Sheriff could reach, as he stood up in the boat, “pull the vines down to you?” The Sheriff tried, but the vines resisted his utmost strength; so crying “steady!” he pulled himself up clear of the boat, and began to try to establish a footing among the foliage. At this moment Captain Suggs made no remark orally, but his eye said to Betsy, as plainly as eye could talk, “hit her a lick back, my gal!” Silently the paddle went into the water, Betsy leaning back, with lips compressed, and in a second the canoe shot ten feet out from the tree, and the Sheriff was left dangling among the vines! “Stop your senseless jokes!” roared the officer. “Keep cool, old Tap-my-shoulder! thar’s jist the smallest grain of a joke in this here, that ever you seed. It’s the coldest sort of airnest.” “What shall I do? How shall I get out of this?” asked Ellis, piteously. “Let all go and drop in the water, and swim out,” was the reply. “I can’t swim a lick—how deep is it?” Suggs seemed to ruminate, and then replied: “From—say—fifteen—yes, _at least_, fifteen—to—about twenty-five foot. Ugly place!” “Gracious goodness!” said poor Ellis, “you certainly won’t leave me here to drown—my strength is failing already.” “If I don’t,” said the Captain, most emphatically, “I wish I may be cotched and hanged where you are,” and saying a word to Betsy, they shot rapidly across the river. Kissing his companion as he stepped out of the boat, Suggs sought Button, who was tied to a thicket near by, and mounting, pursued his homeward way.