“Whoop!” cried Buller, as the water rose over the sides. “Steady yourself, old boy, or you’ll go overboard!” And the next moment the wagon body sunk out of sight.
But it did not go down very far. The deepest part of the channel of the stream had been passed, and with a bump the wheels struck the bottom.
“Heavens!” exclaimed Buller, “we are aground.”
“Aground!” exclaimed Podington, “Heaven be praised!”
As the two men stood up in the submerged wagon the water was above their knees, and when Podington looked out over the surface of the pond, now so near his face, it seemed like a sheet of water he had never seen before. It was something horrible, threatening to rise and envelop him. He trembled so that he could scarcely keep his footing.
“William,” said his companion, “you must sit down; if you don’t, you’ll tumble overboard and be drowned. There is nothing for you to hold to.”
“Sit down,” said Podington, gazing blankly at the water around him, “I can’t do that!”
At this moment the horse made a slight movement. Having touched bottom after his efforts in swimming across the main bed of the stream, with a floating wagon in tow, he had stood for a few moments, his head and neck well above water, and his back barely visible beneath the surface. Having recovered his breath, he now thought it was time to move on.
At the first step of the horse Mr. Podington began to totter. Instinctively he clutched Buller.
“Sit down!” cried the latter, “or you’ll have us both overboard.” There was no help for it; down sat Mr. Podington; and, as with a great splash he came heavily upon the seat, the water rose to his waist.