lower his head to take a bite from some particularly tempting bunch of
grass by the side of the road.

The fact was, Harry was thinking. He had entirely forgotten the five
horses and everything concerning them, and was deeply cogitating a plan
which, in an exceedingly crude shape, had been in his mind ever since he
had met old Miles on the road to the railroad.

What he wished to devise was some good plan to prevent the interruption,
so often caused by the rising of Crooked Creek, of communication between
the mica mine, belonging to the New York company, and the station at
Hetertown.

If he could do this, he thought he could make some money by it; and it
was, as we all know, very necessary for him, or at least for Aunt
Matilda, that he should make money.

It was of no use to think of a bridge. There were bridges already, and
when the creek was "up" you could scarcely see them.

A bridge that would be high enough and long enough would be very costly,
and it would be an undertaking with which Harry could not concern
himself, no matter what it might cost.

A ferry was unadvisable, for the stream was too rapid and dangerous in
time of freshets.

There was nothing that was really reliable and worthy of being seriously
thought of but a telegraph line. This Harry believed to be feasible.