The woman did not ask what physical or mental condition was implied as a possibility for “old Wheeler” should he gain a knowledge of Lady’s performance, but she hastened to say: “If you know of some way of getting us there pray tell it quickly, for Lucy is nearly ready to drop.” “Will you let her ride on my wagon if I fix it up for her?” “Certainly; but you will never be able to draw her and this great satchel all that distance.” “I aint a-gonter; Lady yonder will,” and he gave a funny laugh as he scampered across the sandy road. Placing around the mare’s neck a piece of rope which he had picked up from the station platform, he then let down the bars and led her out. “Now, look a-here, old Lady, you’ve got ter be on yer very primest behavior, ’cause I’ve give my word fer yer. Do yer hear? So mind what I’m a-sayin’,” and he led her in front of his wagon. Picking up the rope with which he had drawn it, he tied it firmly to Lady’s long tail. “There, ma’am! How’s that fer a swell Boston Common broosh?” “Why, she will never in this world draw it that way; your wagon will be kicked to atoms.” “Will it? Just see now,” and, stretching himself full length upon it and crossing his arms beneath his head, he called out, “Git along, Lady.” Lady gave one inquiring look behind to see that all was right; whisked her tail about to be sure that all was fairly hitched, and, calling her son to her side, marched off down the road as sedately as though she were harnessed to a farm wagon. Sonny capered along beside her or stopped to poke his nose into the boy’s face. They certainly presented a comical spectacle, for the boy had crossed his legs and one bare foot stuck straight up in the air. After they had journeyed about twenty rods he called out: “Halt!” and Lady stopped. “Right about face, forward march!” cried the boy, and Lady calmly turned herself about and marched back to the station. “Well, I never! If that don’t beat all I ever heard tell of,” exclaimed the woman. “Well, come along; we’ve got to get there somehow, and this seems the only way.” “Wait a minit and I’ll fix it all hunky,” cried the boy, and, running down to the end of the platform, he picked up a lot of potato sacks which were lying there. These he piled on the wagon, then, wadding some of them up for a pillow, he said: “There you are, ma’am, fine as a fiddle.” Together they placed the little invalid upon the queer vehicle, and after settling the big valise at her feet, as a sort of bunker in case Lady should prove resentful, the boy took the leader and off they started. It was a funny enough procession and would have drawn a smile from the dullest. As they trudged along through the sand the woman asked: “How did you come to try such a prank as this, I’d like to know? What is your name?”