."

Marco mounted behind the boy, and the boy turned his horse's head
towards the shore.

"How far is it back to the mill?" asked Marco.

"To the steam mill?--four miles," answered the boy.

"Four miles!" exclaimed Marco; "is it possible that I have floated down
four miles? How shall I ever get back again?"

"How did you happen to get adrift?" asked the boy.

Marco proceeded to give the boy an account of his getting adrift, but in
a short time the water began to grow so deep that he was afraid. The
boy, however, told him that there was no danger. The bottom of the
river, at this place, was a great bed of pebble stones, and the current
ran very swiftly over them, and curled in sharp ripples about the
horse's legs. Presently, however, the water became more shallow, and
they soon safely reached the shore.

"Now," said Marco, "I want to get back to the mill just as quick as I
can--before the steamboat goes."

"The steamboat?" said the boy, "she has gone long ago. She went by early
this morning."

"Yes," said Marco, "she went by here, but she got stopped."

So Marco told the boy the story of their having got aground, and of his
going ashore; and of all his adventures, in fact, down to the time of
his being cast upon the desert island. The boy told him that he had
better make haste; "for," said he, "the tide has risen a great deal
already. When the tide is at the lowest, we can go out to that island
almost on bare ground."

"But I can't walk back four miles," said Marco. "Could you not carry me
in a wagon?" he continued.

"We have got a wagon," said the boy, "if my father will let me go."

"Let us go right up and ask him," said Marco

They accordingly began to advance up the road, the boy putting his horse
to a rapid trot. Marco, who was not accustomed to riding in this
style--behind another boy, and without a saddle--was much jolted, and,
in fact, he found it very difficult to keep his seat. He began to feel
so much anxiety, however, about getting back again, that he did not
complain. In a short time, the boy reached the house. It was a small,
plain farm-house. There was a shed at one side of it, with a wagon
standing in the shed--the shafts resting upon a wood-pile.

"My father is not at home, now," said the boy, "but he will be at home
very soon."

"Oh, don't let us wait for him," rejoined Marco. "He'll be willing to
have you go, I know."

"No," said the boy, "I should not dare to go without his leave