The water rose slowly (or the river bottom shelved very gradually), and they were half-way across before it had reached the hubs of the wheels. But the mare appeared to be in deeper. She refused to advance, and once more turned and stared with a kind of wistful rudeness. Then she saw the whip, before it fell, made a desperate plunge, and floundered forward into deep water--but without the buggy. 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. The sight appeared to arouse whatever of youthful mischief remained in the feeble old heart. She seemed to gather herself for a tremendous effort, then snorted once, and kicked thrice--three feeble kicks of perhaps six inches in the perpendicular. Mrs. Kimbal exploded into laughter. "Wouldn't you know she was a woman?" she said. But Saterlee was climbing out of the buggy. "Now," said he, "if you'll just tie my coat round your neck by the sleeves--let the vest go hang--and then you'll have to let me carry you." Mrs. Kimbal did as she was told. But the buggy, relieved at last of all weight, slid off sidewise with the current, turned turtle, and was carried swiftly down-stream. Saterlee staggering, for the footing was uncertain, and holding Mrs. Kimbal high in his arms, started for shore. The water rose above his waist, and kept rising. He halted, bracing himself against the current. "Ma'am," he said in a discouraged voice, "it's no use. I've just got to let you get wet. We've got to swim to make it." "All right," she said cheerfully. "Some folks," he said, "likes to go overboard sudden; some likes to go in by degrees." "Between the two for me," said Mrs. Kimbal. "Not suddenly, but firmly and without hesitation." She gave a little shivery gasp. "It's not really cold," she said. "How strong the current pulls. Will you have to swim and tow me?" "Yes," he said. "Then wait," she said. "Don't let me be carried away." He steadied her while she drew the hat-pins from her hat and dropped it as carelessly on the water as if that had been her dressing-table. Then she took down her hair. It was in two great brown, shining braids. The ends disappeared in the water, listing down-stream. Shorn of her hat and her elaborate hair-dressing, the lady was no longer showy, and Saterlee, out of the tail of an admiring eye, began to see real beauties about her that had hitherto eluded him. Whatever other good qualities and virtues she may have tossed overboard during a stormy and unhappy life, she had still her nerve with her. So Saterlee told himself. "It will be easier, won't it," she said, "if you have my hair to hold by? I think I can manage to keep on my back."