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"Tis many a year since the River Spirit hath burst his bonds, and thus run riot in the valley! " soliloquised Jack the boatman, pausing in his task of re-soling a much-worn shoe, to look out, from the tiny window of his workshop, upon the brawling river below, which, swollen by the winter rains to a roaring, foaming current, dashed angrily past the little dwelling close upon its banks, threatening to sweep it bodily away in its fury, while through the valley the wind howled a melancholy accompaniment to the noisy music of the waters, and moaned, like a human being in pain, in the dark woods beyond.
"It will verily be well an my bridge should prove itself equal to so fierce a foe! " continued Jack, leaning his elbows on the window-sill, and gazing out into the blackness, in which the frail hand-bridge, stretched across the river, just showed itself, like a streak of white light, in the surrounding gloom.