Nowalltheturnofallmylifehunguponthatmoment。
ButasIsattheremunchingacrustofBettyMuxworthy’ssweetbrownbread，andabitofcoldbaconalongwithit，andkickingmylittleredheelsagainstthedryloamtokeepthemwarm，Iknewnomorethanfishundertheforkwhatwasgoingonoverme。ItseemedasadbusinesstogobacknowandtellAnnietherewerenoloaches；andyetitwasafrightfulthing，knowingwhatIdidofit，toventure，wherenogrownmandurst，uptheBagworthywater。AndpleasetorecollectthatIwasonlyaboyinthosedays，fondenoughofanythingnew，butnotlikeamantomeetit。
However，asIatemoreandmore，myspiritarosewithinme，andIthoughtofwhatmyfatherhadbeen，andhowhehadtoldmeahundredtimesnevertobeacoward。
AndthenIgrewwarm，andmylittleheartwasashamedofitspit-a-patting，andIsaidtomyself，’nowiffatherlooks，heshallseethatIobeyhim。’SoIputthebagroundmybackagain，andbuckledmybreechesfarupfromtheknee，expectingdeeperwater，andcrossingtheLynn，wentstoutlyupunderthebrancheswhichhangsodarkontheBagworthyriver。
Ifounditstronglyover-woven，turned，andtornwiththicket-wood，butnotsorockyastheLynn，andmoreinclinedtogoevenly。Therewerebarsofchafedstakesstretchedfromthesideshalf-wayacrossthecurrent，andlightoutridersofpithyweed，andbladesoflastyear’swater-grasstremblinginthequietplaces，likeaspider’sthreads，onthetransparentstillness，withatintofolivemovingit。Andhereandtherethesuncamein，asifhislightwassifted，makingdanceuponthewaves，andshadowingthepebbles。