“What is it, boy?”
“One foot went down deep. Yes, I know where we are.”
“Yes, close home, my boy,” cried the squire.
“No, no; half a mile away by the sharp turn, father; and I nearly went right down. We must keep more this way.”
The squire drew his breath hard, for he knew his son was right, as the road proved when they turned almost at right angles and plashed on through the water.
Half a mile farther to go and the current rushing on! It had been only over their ankles, now it was above their knees, and both knew that at this rate it would be waist-deep, if not deeper, before they could reach the high ground at home.
“It is very horrible, Dick, my lad,” cried the squire at last as they kept on, with the water steadily and surely growing deeper.
“Oh, I don’t mind, father! We shall get on so far before it’s over our heads that we shall be able to swim the rest of the way. You can swim, father?”
“I used to, my lad; perhaps I have not forgotten how. But I am thinking of the people about. I wonder whether Hickathrift has found it out.”
“I dare say he’s in bed, father,” said Dick.