"We shall be over the bridge in a jiffy," cried Jack, "and then, old fellow, what will you say?"
"I'd like to feel myself safely over," muttered David, when, before the other could reply, Jack, David, horse, and meal went floundering into the raging waters of the swollen stream. It was pitch dark; the storm was on them, and they were miles from human help.
The first few moments of horrible suspense can scarcely be expressed. Jack at last found himself anchored on a log of drift-wood, the icy waters breaking over him, and the bridle still fast in his hand.
"David!" he shouted at the top of his voice, "David!"
"The Lord have mercy!" cried David, "I'm somewhere."
The meal? ah, that was making a pudding in some wild eddy of the Bounding Brook far below.
"No matter what a man believes, provided he's sincere," cried poor Jack, thoroughly drenched and humbled. "It's the biggest lie the devil ever got up."
"It does matter. Being right is the main thing. Sincerity doesn't save a fellow from the tremendous consequences of being wrong. It can't get him out of trouble. He's obliged to endure it, no matter how sincere he had been.