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Updated: May 18, 2025
One rotten shaft had broken clean off, both rotten traces, and the reins, upon which hitherto there had been no warning pull, were jerked from Saterlee's loose fingers. The old mare reached the further shore presently, swimming and scrambling upon a descending diagonal, stalked sedately up the bank, and then stood still, only turning her head to look at the buggy stranded in mid-stream.
She was accompanied by the hook and leg table upon which she had made her delicate meal, and all its appurtenances, including ice-water and a wide open jar of very thin mustard. "Thank you," she murmured, as her impact drove most of the breath out of Saterlee's bull body. "How strong you are!"
"Ma'am," said Saterlee, the most chivalrous courtesy in his voice, for hers had sounded truly distressed, "fire away!" "It's about my daughter," she said. "She has made up her mind to marry a young man whom I scarcely know. But about him and his antecedents I know this: that his father has buried three wives." The blood rushed into Saterlee's face and nearly strangled him.
The lady looked out of the window not hers, but Saterlee's. "It does look," she said, "as if the waters had divorced themselves from the bed of ocean." She delivered this in a quick but telling voice. Saterlee was shocked at the comparison.
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