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Updated: September 29, 2025
Sometimes, in the big river, when we would be feeling our way cautiously along through a fog, the deep hush would suddenly be broken by yells and a clamor of tin pans, and all in instant a log raft would appear vaguely through the webby veil, close upon us; and then we did not wait to swap knives, but snatched our engine bells out by the roots and piled on all the steam we had, to scramble out of the way!
"What sort of a chap is that boy of yours?" asked Ernest. "Pig-headed!" said the old lady, speaking for the first time. "That is not a bad trait," said Ernest, smiling. "I mean can you trust him?" "Yes, you kin," said his mother. "Webby will do just what he says every time and all the time." "The woman's right," said the farmer. "I kin trust Web soon as I kin myself."
Ladies were oftener seen passing through the gates and walking in the gardens where the fountains had begun to play, and the swans and ducks on the lakes felt the return of spring in every fibre of their webby feet and cold scaly legs. And Dorothy sat as it were at the spring-head of the waters, for, through her dominion over the fire-engine, she had become the naiad of Raglan.
Ernest himself was in too much pain to rest so he sat and talked aviation with the farmer for a few minutes and then they went down to the lot to take a look at the machine. The farmer's wife had stacked her dishes and was there before them. Not even his mother was allowed inside the scratch by the important and faithful Webby.
"My father has commanded that you shall make him a loaf of soft white bread to-morrow, and well I know that your webby fingers can never make bread that he would taste or even so much as look at." "Do not be too sure of that," answered the frog. "Sleep in peace, and I promise that to-morrow I will provide a loaf that even the Tsar will be glad to eat of."
He stood guard beside the machine, enjoying the proudest moment of his life. In after years, when Webby, goaded on by that fateful landing, had gained the highest rung of fame's ladder, his triumph was little compared to that clear sunset time in the pasture when he stood guard over the wonder-car that had come from the sky with its pilot and passengers scarcely older than himself.
Turning over whole mounds of fresh white gloves, delving into nests of sheer handkerchiefs and stacks of webby lingerie. Then for a while she stood quite helplessly, looking into the mirror, her hands closed about her throat. "Please, God, where?"
The bed had been dragged from the wall, and the squatter girl was sweeping out the dust of ages which settled again upon the coats and among the webby meshes of the net now dry and shrunken from disuse.
They belonged to a creature not as tall as I, and certainly not human in shape. Arms and legs it had, of a sort, and scales, also, and finny spines, and a soft slimy body. Then, through the door which led to the silver street, I saw more of the creatures, and more, a soft, hurrying crowd patting over the ingot blocks which paved the road, peering in at the door, beckoning with webby fingers.
"Druther fly," said Webby promptly, laying down his rifle and starting toward the car. "I can't fly it myself now," said Ernest, "but when the other boy comes down from the house he will give you a little turn. If we had time, we could stay here for a day or so. This is the finest field for landing that I have seen in a long time.
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