"My name is Horace Clifford, sir," replied the boy, wondering why a cruel policeman should want to laugh. "Well, well," said the man, not unkindly, "I'm glad I've come across ye, for your mother's in a terrible taking. What set ye out to run off? Come, now; don't be sulky. Give us your hand, and I guess, seein' it's you, we won't put you in the lock-up this time." Horace was very grateful to the officer for not handcuffing him on the spot; still he felt as if it was a great disgrace to be marched through the city by a policeman. Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Mr. Lazelle met them on the way. "O, my dear, dear son," cried Mrs. Clifford, as soon as she could speak; "do you know how you've frightened us all?" "I followed the band," stammered Horace. "I was looking for Mr. Lazelle." "You're a naughty, mean little boy," cried Grace, when she had made sure he was not hurt anywhere. "It would have been good enough for you if you'd drowned in the lake, and the bears had ate you up!" Still she kissed her naughty brother, and it was to be noticed that her eyelids were very red from crying. "I'll never let go your hand again, Horace," said she, "till we get to grandma's. You're just as _slippery_!" Mr. Lazelle looked as if it would be an immense relief to him if Miss Grace would keep her word; he thought he was undergoing a great trial with Horace. "It's a shame," said he to himself, "that a perfect lady, like Mrs. Clifford, should have such a son! I'd enjoy whipping him--for her sake! Why in the world don't she _train_ him?" Mr. Lazelle did not know of the faithful talk Mrs. Clifford had with Horace that night, nor how the boy's heart swelled with grief, and love, and new resolutions. This adventure caused a day's delay, for it made the party too late for the boat. Horace was so sorry for his foolish conduct, that he spent the next day in the most subdued manner, and walked about the chamber on tiptoe, while Grace tried to soothe little Katie. But, in crossing the lake, he "forgot" again. His mother allowed him to go up on the hurricane deck with Mr. Lazelle, just for ten minutes; and there he became acquainted with the pilot, who was struck with his intelligence, and freely answered 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!"