and uncle were chopping fences in the woods, he unmoored the little boat, and rowed off.  The weather was very fine, and the current rippled gently on between the beautiful banks, which were now darkly wooded, now smiling with green prairies and sunny flowers.  The sweet clear song of the robin, or the monotonous tapping of the brilliant crimson-headed woodpecker, alone broke the stillness of the scene; and after a time, Tom, somewhat wearied and heated by the exertion of rowing, felt inclined to yield to the spirit of rest which breathed around.  So he laid aside his oars, and let the boat drift idly on while he refreshed himself with the cold meat and bread he had provided for the occasion.  The current gradually became stronger, the banks grew rocky and steep—­soon large masses of stone appeared scattered in the river’s bed, and the waters dashed noisily past.  Tom roused up at length, and began to wish that he had not ventured so far; he seized the oars to return, but too late—­his single strength could no longer direct the laboring boat, now hurried along by the rushing stream.  The banks rose steeper—­the river narrowed—­the hoarse sound of falling waters was heard, and Tom saw with despair that he was approaching a terrific cataract.  There seemed no escape from destruction—­there was no hope of help from human hand.  The boy looked around with a pale cheek, but brave heart—­one chance yet remained to save him from certain death—­one chance alone!  A black and rugged rock, around which the waters madly leaped and broke, parted the current some feet from the direction in which his little vessel was impelled;—­if he could reach it, he would be saved!  As he approached it he stood up;—­could he make such a fearful leap?—­he sat down again, and tried to calculate calmly the distance and his powers.  He drew near the rock—­still nearer—­one moment more, and his only chance of life would be gone forever!  He sprang upon the edge of the boat, and, leaping from it with all the strength of despair, fell, clinging with a death-grasp, to the projections of the wet and slippery stone, while the boat, whirling round and round by the impulse, dashed onwards and disappeared!

For some time Tom dared not raise his head; he felt too bewildered, too terrified by the danger he had escaped, to comprehend perfectly his present situation.  At length he sat up, and endeavored to collect his thoughts, and determine what next he should do.  The river-bank rose almost perpendicularly full twenty feet; no straggling vine, by whose help he might have clambered up, fell from it, and the foaming torrent rushing between it and him, rendered any attempt to scale it, without some aid from above, utterly impossible.  He must, then, call for help; but who was there to hear him in this wild place—.and how could he make himself heard above the din of the raging waters which surrounded him?  He was nigh despairing again, when he remembered the whistle with which he used to call the pigs, and which he always carried about him; he took it from his pocket, and blew a long, shrill cry—­it rose high above all the roar and tumult of the cataract, and his failing hope and courage revived.