The bundle of food spilled from the seat, scattering like chaff in the wind in the cold, swirling water. It was lucky for us that we didn't put our bedrolls in when we were going to. They would have been lost with all of our food. We still had those, and matches, and, well, a wagon; but what on Earth were we gonna eat? Nobody had brought any food in their pockets, and suddenly I wished that I hadn't eaten my lunch- well, not all of it. The pear would have been nice to save. How long could a person survive on a solitary pear? Maybe I should have saved the sandwich...

"No, no, no!" cried James, almost going into the water to get a sodden box of pancake mix, but Will stopped him by grabbing his arm. "Let go, Will, we'll starve!"

"How far could we get on pancake mix? Besides, the box is ruined. It's no good." He turned to the rest of us. "Follow me, boys," he said, jumping back onto his horse. I hadn't seen him dismount.

We'll get something for dinner, I told myself.

We rode on in the warm sunlight, feeling like a heavy rock rested in our stomachs. James felt worst of all. His sandy hair fell in front of his crestfallen face, his head turned sadly downward, until we came to a silent stop.

Will had stopped, and I stopped before Dixie could plod right into him. We were on a bank by a waterfall. It was a clandestine spot; the grass soft and the land flat and aromatic. The river still roared, but it was a kilometre behind us now.

Will dismounted, then motioned for us to do the same. We all jumped off of our steeds and let them go graze, and Robert unrolled his bundle. It was a tent, and solemnly we set it up, the horses quietly grazing nearby. When the big canvas tent was set up- metal stakes driven into the ground, the peak high and sharp- Charlie broke the silence.

"So," he said, clearing his throat. "I'm hungry."

I was, too, but didn't say anything. Instead, I worked diligently, pulling grass for a fire pit.

"We all are," snapped James. He seemed madder at himself than we were mad at him.

"What are we gonna eat?" asked Will. He seemed to have lost his show of arrogance and 'I-can-handle-anything', and now he seemed just as confused as everyone else.

"We'll starve out here," moaned Charlie, rolling to the ground and clutching his middle. Just then, before anyone could say anything, the loud croak of a bullfrog came from a muddy area a hundred metres away.

We all looked at each other, and Will shrugged. "Why not?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Roasted bullfrog wasn't bad.

There had been a hundred million of them in the slough, and we had caught a whole bag of them. Roasted over the campfire, they tasted just like chicken; that is, as long as you didn't look at what you were putting in your mouth. We all tried to pretend that the eating of fresh frog legs had been planned, and we took it all in good humor.

It was late before we went to bed. As I settled into my sleeping bag, I heard Robert talking to Will, just a few feet away in the tent.

"My aunt lives just a mile away," he stated.

"What's your point?"

"I don't want bullfrog for breakfast, and I don't think anyone else does, either. Couldn't we go there and beg something?"

Will seemed to consider it a moment, then he replied. "Nah. They ate worse things in the army during the war. We can survive on bullfrog."

"The soldiers in the war didn't have any choice."

Secretly, I was on Robert's side. Bullfrog was not breakfast food. Pancakes were, and fish. Were there fish in the river? Probably not. Besides, nobody had a fishing pole, or even a harpoon. We wouldn't catch anything.

"Fine," consented the older boy after a moment. "Just for tomorrow."

The next day, I tried to act surprised when Will told the rest of us to saddle up; we' re going to the Miller's for breakfast.

They were surprised when a hungry troop of boys came to their door, but after Robert explained our plight, they gladly fed us big plates of pancakes and bacon. I was a little embarrassed, so I volunteered to help with the dishes.

"I declare," said Mrs, Miller, Robert's aunt," I've never fed a Boy Scout troop before, and they've certainly never helped me with the dishes." She smiled, though, and I was glad to help. When we got back to the campsite, Will decided that we'd go home that day.

"I know you don't want to eat bullfogs for four more days. And we certainly can't beg more from the Millers." He drew a deep breath, then continued. "I say we should pack up and go home."

We all agreed with him; there was no hesitation.

This story was a lot of fun to hear from my grandpa. This is just an exercise in short stories; I had to write it for school and am really proud of it. What do you have to say?

~Megan :-)