for Paudeen, and the boys proceeded
together to the bottom, and they were not long in securing the horse.
When they had got the halter over his head, "Now," said Andy, "give me
a lift on him;" and accordingly, by Paudeen's catching Andy's left foot
in both his hands clasped together in the fashion of a stirrup, he
hoisted his friend on the horse's back; and as soon as he was secure
there, Master Paudeen, by the aid of Andy's hand, contrived to scramble
up after him; upon which Andy applied his heel to the horse's side with
many vigorous kicks, and crying "hurrup!" at the same time, endeavoured
to stimulate Owny's steed into something of a pace as he turned his
head towards the mill.

"Sure arn't you going to crass the river?" said Paudeen.

"No, I'm going to lave you at home."

"Oh, I'd rather go up to Owny's, and it's the shortest way acrass the
river."

"Yes, but I don't like."

"Is it afeared that you are?" said Paudeen.

"Not I, indeed!" said Andy; though it was really the fact, for the
width of the stream startled him, "but Owny told me to take grate care
o' the baste, and I'm loath to wet his feet."

"Go 'long wid you, you fool! what harm would it do him? Sure he's
neither sugar nor salt, that he'd melt."

"Well, I won't anyhow," said Andy, who by this time had got the horse
into a good high trot, that shook every word of argument out of
Paudeen's body; besides, it was as much as the boys could do to keep
their seats on Owny's Bucephalus, who was not long in reaching the
miller's bridge. Here voice and halter were employed to pull him in,
that he might cross the narrow wooden structure at a quiet pace. But
whether his double load had given him the idea of double exertion, or
that the pair of legs on each side sticking into his flanks (and perhaps
the horse was ticklish) made him go the faster, we know not; but the
horse charged the bridge as if an Enniskilliner were on his back, and an
enemy before him; and in two minutes his hoofs clattered like thunder on
the bridge, that did not bend beneath him. No, it did _not_ bend, but it
broke; proving the falsehood of the boast, "I may break, but I won't
bend;" for, after all, the really strong may bend, and be as strong as
ever: it is the unsound that has only the seeming of strength, which
breaks at last when it resists too long.

Surprising was the spin the young equestrians took over the ears of the
horse, enough to make all the artists of Astley's envious;