“Never fear, farmer,” said William.  “I can take care of myself.”

“May the Lord take care of you,” said the farmer, as he followed the youth, dashing through the town on his spirited horse.  “If it were not for this wagon-load, and there are so many to be clothed and fed at home, I would follow you, but I can’t do it.”

William rode rapidly homeward.  The noonday being long passed, the skies were clouding over, and harsh spring winds were playing through the woods.

William enjoyed such rides.  Healthy, and fearing nothing, he was a stranger to a feeling of loneliness.  Alternately singing an old air, and then whistling with notes as clear and musical as a flute, he at last came in sight of the creek which had been so tranquil when he crossed it in the morning.  There was an old house near, where lived the people who received the toll.  A man and his wife, with a large family of children, poor people’s inheritance, had long made this place their home, and they were acquainted with all the persons who were in the habit of traveling this way.

William, whom they saw almost daily, was a great favorite with the children.  Not only did he pay his toll, but many a penny and sixpence to the small folks besides, and he was accustomed to receive a welcome.

Now the house was shut up.  It had rained frequently and heavily during the month, and the bright morning, which had tempted the children out to play, was gone, and they had gathered in the old house to amuse themselves as they could.

The bridge had been partly carried away by the freshet.  Some of the beams were still swinging and swaying themselves with restless motion.  The creek was swollen to a torrent.  The waters dashed against its sides, in their haste to go their way.  The wind, too, howled mournfully, and the old trees bent to and fro, nodding their stately heads, and rustling their branches against each other.

“Oh, Mr. William, is it you?” said the woman, opening the door.  “Get off your horse, and come in and rest; you can’t go home to-night.”

“Yes, I can though,” said William, “I have often forded the creek, and though I never saw it as it is now, yet I can get safely over it, I am sure.”

“Don’t talk of such things, for the Lord’s sake,” said Mrs. Jones.  “Why, my husband could not ford the creek now, and you’re a mere boy.”

“No matter for that,” said William.  “I promised my sister to be at home to-night, and I must keep my word.  See how narrow the creek is here!  Good-by, I cannot wait any longer, it is getting dark.”

“Don’t, try it, please don’t, Mr. William,” again said Mrs. Jones.  All the children joined her, some entreating William, others crying out at the danger into which their favorite was rushing.

“Why, you cowards,” cried William, “you make more noise than the creek itself.  Here’s something for gingerbread.”  None of the children offered to pick up the money which fell among them, but looked anxiously after William, to see what he was going to do.