We fell over Ollie and
Snoozer, and were instantly hopelessly tangled. It seemed an age,
with the wagon swaying more and more, before we found the handle.
Jack pushed it up hard, we heard the brake grind on the wheels
outside; then there was a great bump and splash, and the wagon
tilted half over and stopped. We found Ourselves lying on the
side of the cover, with cold water rising about us. We were not
long in getting out, and discovered that the Rattletrap was
capsized in the mill-race.
"Old Blacky did it!" cried Jack, as he danced around and
shook his wet clothes. "I know he did. The old sinner!"
We got out the lantern and lit it. Only the hind end of the
wagon was really in the race; one front wheel still clung to the
bank, and the other was up in the air. Ollie got in and began to
pass things out to Jack, while I went up the hill after the
horses. Jack was right. Old Blacky was evidently the author of
our misfortune. He had broken loose in some manner, and probably
begun his favorite operation of making his toilet on the corner
of the wagon by rubbing against it.
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