"Well, here they are," said Jack, smiling. "They're both good swimmers, and as for the carriage, it floated like a boat."
"Oh, it did?" laughed the stable-keeper, as he examined his property. "Livermore sent you with them, I suppose. I was losing five dollars a day by not having those horses here. What's your name? Do you live in Crofield?"
"Jack Ogden."
"Oh! you're the blacksmith's son. Old Murdoch told me about you. My name's Prodger. I know your father, and I've known him twenty years. How did you get over the creek—tell me about it?"
Jack told him, and Mr. Prodger drew a long breath at the end of the story.
"You didn't know the risk you were running," he said; "but you did first-rate, and if I needed another driver I'd be glad to hire you. What did Livermore say I was to pay you?"
"He didn't say," said Jack. "I wasn't thinking about being paid."
"So much the better. I think the more of you, my boy. But it was plucky to drive that team over Link's bridge just before it went down. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll pay you what they'll earn me to-night—it will be about three dollars—and we'll call it square. How will that do?"
"It's more than I've earned," said Jack, gratefully.
"I'm satisfied, if you are," said Mr. Prodger as Jack jumped down. "Come and see me again if you're to be in town. You're fond of horses and have a knack with them."