e poor beasts were
covered with foam, and trembled excessively. However, they all felt
infinite relief at the prospect of getting away, even though they
would have to wait till the following morning.

Dick was dragged to the dining-room by his eager friends and fiercely
interrogated. He had not much to tell.

The journey to Rome had been made without any difficulty, the
carriage having tumbled forward on its front axle not more than one
hundred and fifty-seven times. True, when it reached Rome it was a
perfect wreck, the framework being completely wrenched to pieces;
and the proprietor was bitterly enraged with Pietro for not leaving
the carriage at Civita Castellana, and returning on horseback for a
wheel; but Dick interceded for the poor devil of a driver, and the
proprietor kindly consented to deduct the value of the coach from his
wages piecemeal.

Their journey back was quick but uninteresting. Dick acknowledged that
he had a faint idea of staying in Rome, but saw a friend who advised
him not to. He had taken the reins and driven for a great part of the
way, while Pietro had gone inside and slumbered the sleep of the just.

As it was a lonely country, with few inhabitants, he had beguiled the
tedious hours of the journey by blowing patriotic airs on an enormous
trombone, purchased by him from a miscellaneous dealer in Rome. The
result had been in the highest degree pleasing to himself, though
perhaps a little surprising to others. No one, however, interfered
with him except a party of gendarmes who attempted to stop him. They
thought that he was a Garibaldino trying to rouse the country. The
trombone might have been the cause of that suspicion.

Fortunately the gendarmes, though armed to the teeth, were not
mounted, and so it was that, when they attempted to arrest Dick,
that young man lashed his horses to fury, and, loosening the reins
at the same moment, burst through the line, and before they knew
what he was about he was away.

They fired a volley. The echoes died away, mingled with
gendarmerian curses. The only harm done was a hole made by a
bullet through the coach. The only apparent effect was the waking
of Pietro. That worthy, suddenly roused from slumber, jumped up to
hear the last sounds of the rifles, to see the hole made by the
bullet, the fading forms of the frantic officials, and the nimble
figure of the gallant driver, who stood upright upon the seat waving
his hat over his head, while the ho