A Thousand-Mile Walk 



deep, and that if I were carried away, I was a 

 good swimmer and would soon dry in the sun 

 shine. But the cautious old soul replied that no 

 one ever waded that river and set off for a horse, 

 saying that it was no trouble at all. 



In a few minutes the ferry horse came gin 

 gerly down the bank through vines and weeds. 

 His long stilt legs proved him a natural wader. 

 He was white and the little sable negro boy that 

 rode him looked like a bug on his back. After 

 many a tottering halt the outward voyage was 

 safely made, and I mounted behind little Nig. 

 He was a queer specimen, puffy and jet as an 

 India rubber doll and his hair was matted in sec 

 tions like the wool of a merino sheep. The old 

 horse, overladen with his black and white bur 

 den, rocked and stumbled on his stilt legs with 

 fair promises of a fall. But all ducking signs 

 failed and we arrived in safety among the weeds 

 and vines of the rugged bank. A salt bath 

 would have done us no harm. I could swim and 

 little Afric looked as if he might float like a 

 bladder. 



