The Bridge

The Bridge

Viola smiled glancing down at the small stream, the narrow, rickety bridge before looking back at her brother driving papa’s wagon.

“You can do it Herman,” she encouraged him.

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, you can.  Just go straight,” she replied, urging him on.

“All right,” he said, giving the reigns a snap.

Viola watched as the wagon moved across the bridge.  For a second she thought he might make it across before the wagon’s right front wheel slipped and it fell off into the stream.

Smiling, she skipped home to tell papa Herman got the wagon stuck again.

End (based upon a true story that was told to me by my grandmother)

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