And, of course, jest as I got holt of the book, that limb broke and I fell into the crick.

But I had the book.

It was some soaked, but I reckoned it could still be read.
I clumb out and she was jest splitting herself laughing at me.

The wet on her face where she had cried wasn't dried up yet, and she was laughing right through it, kind o' like the sun does to one of these here May rainstorms sometimes, and she was the purtiest girl I ever seen.

Gosh!--how I was getting to like that girl! And she told me I looked like a drowned rat.
Well, that was how Martha and me was interduced.