They did what the driver told them--walked quietly off the
bridge.
At the farther end they joined the picnic party that had gotten off the
first truck. And there, almost breathless, they watched the work of
rescue going on.
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.
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