eavy at the office.

When Mr. Orde had finished his business, he put on his hat, and the big
man, the little boy and the grave, black and white setter dog walked
down the long dark hall, down the steps, and around the corner to the
livery stable.

Here they climbed into one of the light and graceful buggies which were
at that time a source of such pride to their owners, and flashed out
into the street behind Mr. Orde's celebrated team.

Duke's gravity at this juncture deserted him completely. Life now meant
something besides duty. Ears back, mouth wide, body extended, he flew
away. Faster and faster he ran, until he was almost out of sight; then
turned with a whirl of shingle dust and came racing back. When he
reached the horses he leaped vigorously from one side to the other,
barking ecstatically; then set off on a long even lope along the
sidewalks and across the street, investigating everything.

Mr. Orde took the slender whalebone whip from its socket.

"Come, Dick!" said he.

The team laid back their pointed delicate ears, shook their heads from
side to side, snorted and settled into a swift stride. Bobby leaned over
to watch the sunlight twinkle on the wheel-spokes. The narrow tires sunk
slightly in the yielding shingle fragments. _Brittle!_ _Brittle!_
_Brittle!_ the sound said to Bobby. Above all things he loved to watch
the gossamer-like wheels, apparently too light and delicate to bear the
weight they must carry, flying over the springy road.

At the edge of town they ran suddenly out from beneath the maple trees
to find themselves at the banks of the river. A long bridge crossed it.
The team clattered over the planks so fast that hardly could Bobby get
time to look at the cat-tails along the bayous before blue water was
beneath him.

But here Mr. Orde had to pull up. The turn-bridge was open; and Bobby to
his delight was allowed to stand up in his seat and watch the wallowing,
churning little tug and the three calm ships pass through. He could not
see the tug at all until it had gone beyond the bridge, only its smoke;
but the masts of the ship passed stately in regular succession.

"Three-masted schooner," said he.

Then when the last mast had scarcely cleared the opening, the ponderous
turn-bridge began slowly to close. Its movement was almost
imperceptible, but mighty beyond Bobby's small experience to gauge. He
could make out the two bridge tenders walking around and around, pushing
on the long