“Very well. I’ll send it right out.” Denise stepped back into the wagon to wait, and then came the beginning of Ned’s humiliation. Dong! rang out the bell of the town clock. Dong! dong! until twelve strokes of the bell had sounded. Ned knew a great deal, and he must also have known how to count, for as the last stroke rung out he began to fidget. “Now you are up to some new prank,” said Denise to herself, “and I won’t say one word, but will see what you will do.” So she let the reins hang loose and kept perfectly still. Ned’s blinders prevented him from seeing her, but one ear was laid back to listen. Denise sat as silent as the whip socket. First a sidling step away from the curbstone; then another. Still no restraint from the wagon. Surely Denise must have gone into that store, thought Ned. Two or three more steps took him well into the middle of the road, and that road led home and to dinner. Still it would be wiser to listen again, and a knowing pair of ears were prepared to catch the faintest sound from the wagon. But no sound came, although Denise was nearly convulsed with laughter. Surely things were progressing famously, and when dinner was to be had so easily why not go after it? And off my laddie started, at a brisk pace. But walking was slow work. Not a vehicle was in sight, so very shortly Master Ned was trotting along at a fine rate. “Dear me! trotting is a very common-place manner of getting over the ground. Can’t we improve on it?” Surely, and a moment later the little villain was bounding along like a deer, the wagon jerking and rattling behind him. By this time Denise thought the joke had gone far enough, and so said in her most sarcastic tone: “Well, sir, how much further do you intend to run?” But the effect was astounding. With one final bound Ned stopped short. Snap went the breeching straps, and over went Denise, landing straight across the dashboard, with her hands spread out upon Ned’s fat haunches, where she could only lie and laugh. When she had laughed till she couldn’t laugh any more, she scrambled out, and, walking around to Ned’s head, peeped over the blinders, and beheld a very subdued little horse. “Well, sir, when I’ve fixed up your harness, and gotten you into some sort of shape again, we’ll go back for the sugar, if you please, and it would serve you just exactly right if you did not get one bit of dinner until two o’clock instead of one.” THE END TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.