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ered all the questions he asked about the engine, "the whistle," and the steering. "O, pshaw!" said Horace; "I'll make a steamboat myself, and give it to Grace for a present!" Full of this new plan, he left the pilot without so much as a "thank you," running down the steps, two at a time, unobserved by Mr. Lazelle, who was playing the flute. He wanted to see how the "rigging" was made, and stopped to ask leave of nobody. Down another flight of stairs, out across trunks, and bales, and ropes, he pushed his way to get a good sight of the deck. He paid no heed to people or things, and nearly ran over an Irish boy, who was drawing up water in buckets for washing. Somebody shouted, "He's trying to kill hisself, I do believe!" Somebody rushed forward to seize the daring child by the collar of his jacket, but too late; he had fallen headlong into the lake! A scream went up from the deck that pierced the air,--"Boy overboard! Help! help! help!" Mrs. Clifford heard, and knew, by instinct, that it was Horace. She had just sent Grace to call him, not feeling safe to trust him longer with Mr. Lazelle. She rushed through the door of the state-room, and followed the crowd to the other side of the boat, crying,-- "O, can't somebody save him!" There was no mistaking the mother's voice; the crowd made way for her. "Safe! safe and sound!" was the shout now. "All right!" The Irish lad, at Horace's first plunge, had thrown him his bucket--it was a life-preserver; that is, it would not sink--and the drowning boy had been drawn up by means of a rope attached to the bail. "Ma," said Grace, when they were all safely in the cars at Buffalo, and Horace as well as ever, though a little pale, "I do believe there never was anybody had such an awful journey! _Do_ you suppose we'll ever get Horace home to grandma's?" CHAPTER IV. AT GRANDPA PARLIN'S. It was over at last--the long, tedious journey, which Horace spoiled for everybody, and which nobody but Horace enjoyed. When they drove up to the quiet old homestead at Willowbrook, and somebody had taken the little baby, poor Mrs. Clifford threw herself into her mother's arms, and sobbed like a child. Everybody else cried, too; and good, deaf grandpa Parlin, with smiles and tears at the same time, declared,-- "I don't know what the matter is; so I can't tell whether to laugh or cry." Then his daughter Margaret went up and said in his best ear that they wer
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