"I can't make him stir without the whip," said I.
"I won't have him beaten; I know it isn't safe! Just hold tight on, there's a good boy," begged Mrs. Crane, in a despairing voice. "Perhaps he'll change his mind presently; the horrid little beast! Or somebody may go by. Don't let go, Miles. What a mercy you came, to be sure!"
She had never spoken so politely to me before; and I began to see a dawn of better days. But I had no time to think of myself, for there was no knowing what trick the pony might be up to next; and I didn't want to have them all soused in cold water, on a January afternoon, three miles away from home; more especially Miss Adela, who was given to taking bad colds. I was wondering how in the world to get them out; and, despite all I could do, the pony backed again a few inches. So then Mrs. Crane and Nurse set up another shriek, and Miss Adela looked quite white and shivering, as if she was getting frightened.
"Miss Adela," said I, "you just come to the corner, please—this side—and tell me if you think you could jump into my arms, if I move a step nearer."
"Yes, I'm sure I could," said she.
"Then stand up firm; and when I say 'Now,' you jump as far as you can, and I'll catch you. Don't be in a hurry. Are you quite ready—quite? Now!"
She jumped like a little kangaroo, and the same instant I let go the pony, and held out both arms. I had her safe, and with one bound I set her on the grass, and was back at the pony's head. But he had used his opportunity, and the cart was deeper in than before.
"Now Miss Adela's safe," said I, and perhaps I gave a breath of relief, which wasn't altogether kind to the two who were still in the cart. "If you'll give me the whip, I'll get you both out; and if not, we may have to stay here till midnight. You and Nurse couldn't jump like that; and if you could, I shouldn't be able to carry you."
"No, indeed!" Mrs. Crane said; but all the same she held to the whip, and would not give it up. She was sure the pony would kick, and sure I didn't know anything about horses; and if I only would hold on tight, like a dear good boy—yes, she actually said "dear"—somebody would come by very soon, or else the pony would get tired, and would give in.
I don't know how soon the pony was likely to get tired, but I knew I was getting heartily tired of standing knee-deep in slimy water, lugging at an obstinate little brute who wouldn't move. I was just going to say that if she would not give me the whip, I should have to leave at the pony, and go after other help,—I thought this might have the effect of frightening her into yielding, and it was so bad for Miss Adela, waiting about in the cold,—I was just going to say something of that sort when all at once the pony took into his head to do the very thing that Mrs. Crane was most afraid of. He gave a kick and a plunge, and backed again, spite of all I could do, and one wheel caught in a big stone under water, and the cart went over, not in a hurry, but quietly and deliberately, in a sort of business-like way.