One morning Mary Bartley and her governess walked to a neighboring town
and enjoyed the sacred delight of shopping. They came back by a
short-cut, which made it necessary to cross a certain brook, or rivulet,
called the Lyn. This was a rapid stream, and in places pretty deep; but
in one particular part it was shallow, and crossed by large
stepping-stones, two-thirds of which were generally above-water. The
village girls, including Mary Bartley, used all to trip over these
stones, and think nothing of it, though the brook went past at a fine
rate, and gradually widened and deepened as it flowed, till it reached a
downright fall; after that, running no longer down a decline, it became
rather a languid stream.
Mary and her governess came to this ford and found it swollen by recent
rains, and foaming and curling round the stepping-stones, and their tops
only were out of the water now.
The governess objected to pass this current.
"Well, but," said Mary, "the other way is a mile round, and papa expects
us to be punctual at meals, and I am, oh, so hungry! Dear Miss Everett, I
have crossed it a hundred times.
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