Then, from behind him, came a hail. He turned and saw moving toward him through the shallow water now covering the flat beyond the next channel, the cart he had seen leave the shore by the packet wharf, and, later, on the outer bar. The horse was jogging along, miniature geysers spouting beneath its hoofs. The driver waved to him.
“Hold on, mate,” he called. “Belay there. Stay where you are. I'll be alongside in a shake. Git dap, January!”
Ellery waded back to meet this welcome arrival. The horse plunged into the next channel, surged through it, and emerged dripping. The driver pulled the animal into a walk.
“Say,” he cried, “I'm cruisin' your way; better get aboard, hadn't you? There's kind of a heavy dew this mornin'. Whoa, Bill!”
“Bill” or “January” stopped with apparent willingness. The driver leaned down and extended a hand. The minister took it and was pulled up to the seat.
“Whew!” he panted. “I'm much obliged to you. I guess you saved me from a ducking, if nothing worse.”
“Yes,” was the answer, “I wouldn't wonder if I did. This ain't Saturday night and 'twould be against Trumet principles to take a bath any other time. All taut, are you? Good enough! then we'll get under way.” He flapped the reins and added, “G'long, Julius Caesar!”
The horse, a sturdy, sedate beast to whom all names seemed to be alike, picked up his feet and pounded them down again. Showers of spray flew about the heads of the pair on the seat.
“I ain't so sure about that duckin',” commented the rescuer. “Hum! I guess likely we'll be out of soundin's if we tackle that sink hole you was undertakin' to navigate. Let's try it a little further down.”
Ellery looked his companion over.