BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.
"Oh, Andy!" said little Jenny Murdock, "I'm so glad you came
along this way. I can't get over."
"Can't get over?" said Andrew. "Why what's the matter?"
"The bridge is gone," said Jenny. "When I came across after
breakfast it was there, and now it's over on the other side, and
how can I get back home?"
"Why, so it is," said Andrew. "It was all right when I came over
a little while ago, but old Donald pulls it on the other side
every morning after he has driven his cows across, and I don't
think he has any right to do it. I suppose he thinks the bridge
was made for him and his cows."
"Now I must go down to the big bridge, Andy, and I want you to go
with me. I'm afraid to go through all those dark woods by
myself," said Jenny.
"But I can't go, Jenny," said Andrew, "it's nearly school time
now."
Andrew was a Scotch boy, and a fine fellow. He was next to the
head of his school, and he was as good at play as he was at his
book.
Jenny Murdock, his most particular friend, was a little girl who
lived very near Andrew's home.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98