My senses, however, were not yet gone, and my weight on the wattle stopped it, and I came up gurgling, and flung one arm round a fat, woolly sheep going by me.

The sheep was water-logged, and could scarcely keep his own poor head from drowning, and he turned his mild eyes and looked at me, but I could not spare him.

He struck for the shore in forlorn hope, and he towed us in some little.
It is no good for me to pretend to say how things were managed for us, for of course I could do nothing.

But the sheep must have piloted us to a tree, whose branches swept the torrent.

Here I let him go, and caught fast hold; and Uncle Sam's raft must have stuck there also, for what could my weak arm have done?
I remember only to have felt the ground at last, as the flood was exhausted; and good people came and found him and me, stretched side by side, upon rubbish and mud..