"I wish the old swimming-hole was deeper," said Jack, "but the water's very low. Whoa, boys! Whoa, there! Almost up to the hub—over the hub! Whoa, now!"
And the gray team ceased its plunging and stood still in water three feet deep.
"I mustn't let 'em drink too much," said Jack; "but a little won't hurt 'em."
The horses were trembling all over, but one after the other they put their noses into the water, and then raised their heads to prick their ears back and forth and look round.
"Don't bring 'em ashore till they're quiet, Jack," called out the deep, ringing voice of his father from the bank.
There he stood, and other men were coming on the run. The tall blacksmith's black eyes were flashing with pride over the daring feat his son had performed.
"I daren't tell him, though," he said to himself. "He's set up enough a'ready. He thinks he can do 'most anything."
"Jack," wheezed a mealy voice at his side, "that's my team—"
"I know it," said Jack. "They 're all right now. Pretty close shave through the trees, that was!"
"I owe ye fifty dollars for a-savin' them and the wagin," said the miller. "It's wuth it, and I'll pay it; but I've got to owe it to ye, jest now. Times are awful hard in Crofield. If I'd ha' lost them hosses and that wagin—"