Never again would I judge a man by one of
his failings.
There were ten horses in all to cross, and at the end of two hours' hard
pulling there was only one left to come--old Roper.
Mac took the halter into his own hands there was no one else worthy--
and, slipping into the stern of the boat, spoke first to the horse and
then to the oarsmen; and as the boat glided forward, the noble, trusting
old horse--confident that his long-tried human friend would set him no
impossible task--came quietly through the shallows, sniffing questions at
the half-submerged bushes.
"Give him time!" Mac called. "Let him think it out," as step by step
Roper followed, the halter running slack on the water. When almost out
of his depth, he paused just a moment, then, obeying the tightening rope,
lifted himself to the flood and struck firmly and bravely out.
Staunchly he and Mac dealt with the current: taking time and approaching
it quietly, meeting it with taut rope and unflinching nerve, drifting for
a few breaths to judge its force; then, nothing daunted, they battled
forward, stroke after stroke, and won across without once pulling the
boat out of its course.
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