Freddy and the Perilous Adventure by Walter R. Brooks

a place that Freddy thought would do for the plan he had in mind. It was a cleft between two heavily wooded hills. He let down the grapnel as far as it would go, and it disappeared into the treetops, and then there was a tug and he knew it was caught fast. He took a turn of the rope around the cleat, and every time there came a lull in the breeze and the balloon stopped pulling, he would haul in a little of the rope, and thus pull them down towards the earth. Ducks aren’t very strong and they aren’t built for pulling anyway, but they helped as much as they could.
    â€œIt’s like—pulling in a big—fish,” panted Emma. “Only we’re—pulling in the earth. I don’t suppose—anybody ever caught—a bigger fish than that.”
    â€œMaybe we could catch the moon next,” said Freddy. “We could hang it up in the barnyard, and then Mr. Bean wouldn’t have to pay any more electric bills.”
    â€œWe’d better make sure of the earth first,” said Alice, “before we plan anything else.”
    It was hard work and slow work, but at last the balloon was pulled down until the basket was anchored just above a thick limb that grew halfway up a big oak. Then Freddy threw out the rope ladder and climbed down it. The end of the ladder was a good six feet from the ground, but Freddy only hesitated long enough to say “Oh, dear!” and then dropped.
    I know that they say it doesn’t hurt fat people to fall as much as it does thin people, but it hurt Freddy all right. He bounced three times, and the first bounce made him yell, and the second bounce brought the tears to his eyes and the third bounce made him grunt. And then he lay still for a minute watching what looked like Roman candles going off in all directions. He looked around to see if his legs were all in place, and then he got slowly to his feet.
    â€œOh, Freddy, are you all right?” Emma called.
    He looked up and saw the ducks peering anxiously over the edge of the basket.
    â€œSure, I’m all right,” he said bravely. “So long, and don’t expect me back before tomorrow night.” And he limped off into the woods.
    After he had gone a little way he felt better. He kept his shadow on his right and trudged steadily southward, for that was the direction in which the Bean farm lay. After a couple of hours he came out of the woods into the open fields. In front of him was a broad valley, dotted with farmhouses and laced with roads, and on the other side of the valley, perhaps four miles away, the woods began again. These, he knew, were the Big Woods, where he had once hunted the strange and terrible Ignormus, and beyond the Big Woods were Mr. Bean’s woods, and then the farm. But how was he to get across this open valley without running the risk of being seen and captured by the police?
    Back at home, in what Freddy called his library, which was really just a shed built on to the back of the pigpen, were dozens of disguises, all neatly hung on hangers, which he used in his detective work. In any one of these he felt sure he could walk straight down the road without the slightest danger of being recognized. But without a disguise he was just a stray pig, and if the police were really looking for him, any stray pig was bound to be stopped and questioned.
    It was while he was hesitating at the edge of the woods that he saw the scarecrow. It stood in a field of young corn not far off. It was better dressed than most scarecrows, for it had on a long-tailed black coat and striped trousers, and on the head, which was a piece of white cloth tied around a bunch of hay, was a high silk hat. The whole thing was stuffed with hay, and held up by a stake, with a crossbar along which the arms were fastened. It was pretty well made, but whether it would really have scared crows much is another matter. Crows are not easy to fool.
    Freddy looked all around but nobody was in sight, so he