Bob—that was the horse’s name—knew Johnny whenever he went into the stable; there was no doubt about that, for the little horse would turn around in his stall and whinny at the sound of the boy’s step or voice. Of course Johnny always had sugar for him and brushed his pretty coat for him every day—dear, cunning little Bob!,
“Seems to me it was a sort of angry whirlpool you pulled me from,” retorted Jerry. But he saw that he would have a hard time in getting any more details. “Anyhow, I know I’ve got to thank you for my life—such as it is!”,
As he swam nearer to the object which was swirling around in the water, it constantly eluded his grasp, but he saw that it was Jerry. It was as if the river was playing tag with him, snatching the thing he wanted out of his reach. Reason told him that Jerry was dead. What was the use of his trying to keep up this endeavor when it was all so useless? But something kept him striving, held him to his aim. He couldn’t give up. With a last despairing lunge, he shot into the eddy and caught his comrade’s shoulder. With infinite pains he swam with his prize to the bank. Safely there, he had only strength to pull it halfway out of the water..
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