So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters in fingers, torn clothes, and rubbed shoes, were the only wounds received, while a great deal of fun was had out of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peace secured between two of the boys.

When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall into his old way of tormenting Ben by calling names, as it cost no exertion to invent trying speeches and slyly utter them when most likely to annoy; Ben bore it as well as he could, but fortune favored him at last, as it usually does the patient, and he was able to make his own terms with his tormentor.

When the girls demolished the wood-pile they performed a jubilee chorus on combs, and tin kettles played like tambourines; the boys celebrated their victories with shrill whistles, and a drum accompaniment with fists on the shed walls.  Billy brought his drum, and this was such an addition that Sam hunted up an old one of his little brother’s, in order that he might join the drum corps.  He had no sticks, however, and, casting about in his mind for a good substitute for the genuine thing, bethought him of bulrushes.

“Those will do first-rate, and there are lots in the ma’sh, if I can only get ’em,” he said to himself, and turned off from the road on his way home to get a supply.

Now, this marsh was a treacherous spot, and the tragic story was told of a cow who got in there and sank till nothing was visible but a pair of horns above the mud, which suffocated the unwary beast.  For this reason it was called “Cowslip Marsh,” the wags said, though it was generally believed to be so named for the yellow flowers which grew there in great profusion in the spring.

Sam had seen Ben hop nimbly from one tuft of grass to another when he went to gather cowslips for Betty, and the stout boy thought he could do the same.  Two or three heavy jumps landed him, not among the bulrushes as he had hoped, but in a pool of muddy water where he sank up to his middle with alarming rapidity.  Much scared, he tried to wade out, but could only flounder to a tussock of grass and cling there while he endeavored to kick his legs free.  He got them out, but struggled in vain to coil them up or to hoist his heavy body upon the very small island in this sea of mud.  Down they splashed again, and Sam gave a dismal groan as he thought of the leeches and water-snakes which might be lying in wait below.  Visions of the lost cow also flashed across his agitated mind, and he gave a despairing shout very like a distracted “Moo!”

Few people passed along the lane, and the sun was setting, so the prospect of a night in the marsh nerved Sam to make a frantic plunge toward the bulrush island, which was nearer than the main-land, and looked firmer than any tussock around him.  But he failed to reach this haven of rest, and was forced to stop at an old stump which stuck up, looking very like the moss-grown horns of the “dear departed.”  Roosting here, Sam began to shout for aid in every key possible to the human voice.  Such hoots and howls, whistles and roars, never woke the echoes of the lonely marsh before, or scared the portly frog who resided there in calm seclusion.