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But the hollow in the bottom was a narrow one, and when it was passed the depth of the water gradually decreased. The back of the horse came into view, the dashboard became visible, and the bodies and the spirits of the two men rapidly rose. Now there was vigorous splashing and tugging, and then a jet black horse, shining as if he had been newly varnished, pulled a dripping wagon containing two well-soaked men upon a shelving shore.

“Oh, I am chilled to the bones!” said Podington.

“I should think so,” replied his friend; “if you have got to be wet, it is a great deal pleasanter under the water.”

There was a field-road on this side of the pond which Podington well knew, and proceeding along this they came to the bridge and got into the main road.

“Now we must get home as fast as we can,” cried Podington, “or we shall both take cold. I wish I hadn’t lost my whip. Hi now! Get along!”

Podington was now full of life and energy, his wheels were on the hard road, and he was himself again.

When he found his head was turned toward his home, the horse set off at a great rate.

“Hi there!” cried Podington. “I am so sorry I lost my whip.”

“Whip!” said Buller, holding fast to the side of the seat; “surely you don’t want him to go any faster than this. And look here, William,” he added, “it seems to me we are much more likely to take cold in our wet clothes if we rush through the air in this way. Really, it seems to me that horse is running away.”

“Not a bit of it,” cried Podington. “He wants to get home, and he wants his dinner. Isn’t he a fine horse? Look how he steps out!”

“Steps out!” said Buller, “I think I’d like to step out myself. Don’t you think it would be wiser for me to walk home, William? That will warm me up.”

“It will take you an hour,” said his friend. “Stay where you are, and
I’ll have you in a dry suit of clothes in less than fifteen minutes.”

“I tell you, William,” said Mr. Buller, as the two sat smoking after dinner, “what you ought to do; you should never go out driving without a life-preserver and a pair of oars; I always take them. It would make you feel safer.”

Mr. Buller went home the next day, because Mr. Podington’s clothes did not fit him, and his own outdoor suit was so shrunken as to be uncomfortable. Besides, there was another reason, connected with the desire of horses to reach their homes, which prompted his return. But he had not forgotten his compact with his friend, and in the course of a week he wrote to Podington, inviting him to spend some days with him. Mr. Podington was a man of honor, and in spite of his recent unfortunate water experience he would not break his word. He went to Mr. Buller’s seaside home at the time appointed.

Early on the morning after his arrival, before the family were up, Mr. Podington went out and strolled down to the edge of the bay. He went to look at Buller’s boat. He was well aware that he would be asked to take a sail, and as Buller had driven with him, it would be impossible for him to decline sailing with Buller; but he must see the boat. There was a train for his home at a quarter past seven; if he were not on the premises he could not be asked to sail. If Buller’s boat were a little, flimsy thing, he would take that train—but he would wait and see.

There was only one small boat anchored near the beach, and a man—apparently a fisherman—informed Mr. Podington that it belonged to Mr. Buller. Podington looked at it eagerly; it was not very small and not flimsy.

“Do you consider that a safe boat?” he asked the fisherman.