A noble sacrifice #930328

Jack was proud of the bridge, for it was his own. The thought of building a bridge over the river had been his own original thought; the device of the bridge had been his own original device, and the money required for its erection had come solely out of his own pocket, advanced for the public good, with no hope of its return till after the lapse of many years, when the penny toll levied upon every crosser should have realised the outlay. The bridge might not be built upon very scientific principles, but in spite of many a laugh at Jack's expense, and many a prophecy from some wise passer-by, that it would last as many nights as days, it had already borne three years' wear, and at least one good winter-flood before this particular night with which we have to do. But this night's flood was a different thing to that of two years back; indeed the country-folk had said, as they had crossed the bridge to market on Saturday morning, that never in their memory had the river risen so high. And though Jack wore a cheerful countenance as he took his toll, and assured each one that his bridge was good for sixty years, deep down in his heart there lurked a secret fear each night, as he lay down to sleep, that he might wake to find it had been carried away while he slept; but since market-day three days had gone by, and still the bridge hung bravely over the roaring stream.