ourselves. We got another lesson we did not forget, but there were 
     
    
   
   
    
     many more for us to learn. The dog got a good lesson too and did not 
     
     bother us any more. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Sliding Toward a Roaring Torrent 
     
    
   
   
    
     When I was about fourteen years of age I went to work at a 
     
     place six miles from home. The man kept a large flock of geese. 
     
     One evening when they did not come home, as they usually did I was 
     
     sent out to hunt for them. There was a brook a short distance away, 
     
     and I thought I would find them there. There had been a great 
     
     rain, a winter thaw, that swelled the brook into a torrent that rushed 
     
     into a lake we called uThe Basin.” There was a very high hill sloping 
     
     down, and ending at the brink of this river. It was like the roof of a 
     
     house with a narrow flat edge at the lower part of the roof; recent 
     
     frost had made this roof icy, and smooth as glass. The river was not 
     
     frozen, it was foaming and roaring like a mad bull. I was going along 
     
     on the top of this hill in the dark, peering down, trying to discover 
     
     the geese; suddenly my feet flew out from under me and I started, 
     
     feet first, down the icy incline toward the rushing ice-cold waters of 
     
     the river. It was about two hundred feet to the river. I tried to stop 
     
     myself but there was nothing I could get a hold on. Every second my 
     
     speed was increasing. I stretched out full length on my back, so as to 
     
     catch all the surface I could, but it did not check my sliding. I ex- 
     
     pected to be hurled into the midst of the torrent. 
     
    

    
     There happened to be a few feet of level ice between the foot 
     
     of the hill and the brink of the river, at the place where I slid down, 
     
     this ice was smooth but I stopped sliding as soon as I struck it. I did 
     
     not know just how near I was to the water, I did not dare look or 
     
     move lest I start again, or turn round and go head first into the tor- 
     
     rent. I lay quiet a few seconds and lifted my head carefully to see 
     
     the situation. My feet were nearly over the brink. I had to curl 
     
     them under me to get up, which I did with great care. When I got on 
     
     my feet I stamped the nails of my boot heels into the ice to keep me 
     
     from slipping; in this way I got footing and crept along on the edge 
     
     until I got a place where I could climb up. If I had had moccasins on 
     
     I could not have got up, and might have perished there, unless help 
     
     came. I was thankful to get out of that danger so well. 
     
    
   
   
    
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