To her relief she saw that Phœbe had not lost her wits, but was keeping straight across the creek. She let the mare take her own way, only helping her as far as she could by keeping her head in the way she wished to go. She thought of nothing but the minute’s need; and of all the possibilities before her, the only fear that shaped itself in her mind was one for her horse.
The current was strong, but so was Phœbe, and her blood was up. She snorted fiercely, as if angry with the force that crossed her will, and putting out her strength, she breasted the storm gallantly.
It was but a minute, though it seemed an hour to Fayette, before she touched bottom.
The water sank rapidly, and she reached the shore but a little below the usual landing. The bank came down to the stream with a somewhat steep incline; but mountain-bred Phœbe planted her fore feet firmly, scrambled cat-like up the incline, shook the clinging water from hide and mane, and with a joyous whinny, rushed like an arrow on the track.
The way was plain before her, and in a minute or two more Fayette, with some trouble, checked Phœbe’s gallop at Dr. Ward’s gate. A light was burning over the office door.
Fayette slipped from the saddle, but before she turned to the house, she put her arms round Phœbe’s neck, and kissed the white star on her forehead. As she ran up the walk, she felt, for the first time, that she was wet nearly to her knees, and the wind made her shiver.
She rang the bell sharply, and to her relief the door was opened directly by Dr. Ward himself, who had just come in.
Hurriedly, but clearly, Fayette told her story.
“Yes, I understand,” said Dr. Ward. “But, dear me,” he added, as the light fell on her more clearly, “where have you been to get so wet?”
“In the water,” said Fayette. “The creek is so high, and the bridge is down.”