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Show the dilemma. After some persuasion she let me take the little boys to dry land. We hurried over the intervening rise to the store to get Father. He strode quickly over the quarter mile. Taking off shoes and socks, he waded in to his waist, lifted the woman and carried her ashore. He returned and untangled the muddy mess of lines and tugs. Then he soothed the frightened young horse. After much persuasion the team let him lead them by their bridles out of the mudhole. The wagon was not loaded and wasn't mired deep. Father instructed her to give the pond a wide berth on a new trail that warier drivers were making up the swale to avoid the mudhole. That she did on her trip home. Trestle Lake had one disadvantage: that rise of ground hid it from the store. When I was home I couldn't see my skiff where I left her beached. One morning I was infuriated to find the boat full of boulders and mud. The rocks had been thrown in hard enough to "start" the seams. Even though I cleaned her out, tightened her up and caulked her again, she leaked. I never had as much joy and pride in her as I'd had before. Although Father was philosophical about it, I couldn't understand this vandalism. The few boys within six or eight miles of the store all seemed friendly on the rare occasions they came to Nada. Certainly we were not "feuding." Why they went to all the trouble of carrying the stones from the railroad grade and filling the boat with them and with mud bewildered me. Some of the boys were doubtless humiliated at their lack of success in launching a rival boat. Two of them made a short little tub that always dumped them in the water before they could make headway with it. I offered to join it to the stern of my skiff. We tried that briefly and unsuccessfully. That was probably the worst thing I could have done. Also I "showed off" shamelessly by sailing my boat and displaying my meager seamanship at every opportunity. The nautical terms I learned from Father and from |