One by one little boys and girls were lifted down off the truck, and then, when the last had reached safely the far shore, Mr. Blake, Mrs. Simpson, and the other men and women made their way carefully to land.

“Aren’t you coming?” asked Mr. Blake of the truck driver, for the man was still close to his big car, looking at it and the sagging floor of the bridge.

“I want to see if I can get this truck off,” he answered.  “The machine isn’t damaged any—­it’s only the bridge.  I guess the load was too heavy for it.”

“I heard it cracking as I went over,” called the driver of the first truck.  “I shouted a warning to you, but it was too late.”

“Yes, it was too late to save the bridge, but maybe I can get my truck off,” the other driver went on.  “Anyhow, none of the children is hurt.”

And this was so—­something for which the Sunday school officers were very glad, indeed.

“If we had some pieces of wood to put under the bridge, to brace it up, maybe you could get the truck over,” said the driver of the big auto that was safe on the far shore.

“Why don’t you take fence rails?” asked Bert, who felt better, now that his sisters and brother were all right.

“Yes, we could do that,” agreed the driver of the second auto.  “Come on—­give me a hand!” he called to his companion.

The two men worked away for a time, and braced up the bridge so that the auto could be driven carefully over it, though it was not easy to get it up the hill made when the bridge had sunk into the shape of the letter V.

But finally the empty second truck was safe on the other side of the stream, near the first one, and rails were put across the road to warn other vehicles not to try to cross the bridge.  It was safe enough for a person to walk across, but it would not hold up an auto or a horse and wagon.

“We may as well go on to the picnic grounds,” said Mr. Blake, when the smaller, frightened children had gotten over their crying.

“How we going to get home again if we can’t cross the bridge?” asked Flossie, looking at the sagging structure.

“Oh, there’s another bridge over the creek, about two miles down,” the driver of the second truck said.  “That will be all right.”

Soon the children and grown folks were on the autos again, and moving toward the picnic grounds.  This time there was not so much merry laughter and singing, for all felt that there had been a narrow escape from a terrible accident.

But gloom does not long remain with a party of jolly boys and girls, and by the time they alighted at Pine Grove each one was in high spirits again.

There were plenty of amusements at the picnic grounds.  Little rustic pavilions here and there formed places where one could sit in the shade and eat lunch.  There were swings for those who liked them, and boats for the older ones.

A green meadow, not far away, made a fine baseball field, and Bert, Charlie, and Dannie, with some of the older boys, at once made a rush for the field to start a baseball game.