“What!” yelled the miller, seizing Jerry excitedly by the collar. “Nonsense! He’s gone back by now.”
“I—I was on the bridge.”
“There ain’t no bridge!” growled the miller: “swep’ away.”
“But I was over yonder—saw him jump in.”
“You did?”
“Yes, and came here fast as I could.”
The miller turned to look down the rushing river, and took off his white felt hat, drew out a red cotton handkerchief, and began to mop his wet brow.
“Then Heaven have mercy on him, poor lad! for he’ll never get to shore alive.”
“But he could swim,” said Jerry, feebly.
“Swim? Who’s to swim in water like that? Never! I saw a whole drove of sheep go down this morning, and a half a dozen bullocks. The river’s too much for them as can swim.”