Benjamin Hardy had gone to Adams’ camp to work. It seemed he could use a peavy, or canthook, pretty well, having done something besides sailing in his day. Tim, the hackman, worked at logging in the winter months, too. He usually went past the Stagg place with a team four times each day. There was something Carolyn May wished to ask Benjamin Hardy, but she did not want anybody else to know what it was—not even Uncle Joe or Aunty Rose. Miss Amanda had gone across town to stay with a lady who was ill, so the little girl could not take her into her confidence, had she so wished. Anyway, it was the seaman Carolyn May wished to talk with, and she laid her plans accordingly. Once in the fall and before the snow came she had ridden as far as Adams’ camp with Mr. Parlow. He had gone there for some hickory wood. But, now, to ride on the empty sled going in and on top of the load of logs coming out of the forest, Carolyn May felt sure, would be much more exciting. She mentioned her desire to Uncle Joe on a Friday evening. “Well, now, if it’s pleasant, I don’t see anything to forbid. Do you, Aunty Rose?” Mr. Stagg returned. “I presume Tim will take the best of care of her,” the woman said. “Maybe getting out more in the air will make her look less peaked, Joseph Stagg.” The hardware dealer stared at his little niece with knitted brow. “Does she look peaked, Aunty Rose?” he asked anxiously. “She doesn’t look as robust as I could wish.” “Say! she isn’t sick, is she? You don’t feel bad, do you, Car’lyn May?” “Oh, no, Uncle Joe,” the child hastened to say, remembering vividly the boneset tea. “I’m quite sure I’m not ill.” The excitement of preparing to go to the camp the next morning brought the roses into Carolyn May’s cheeks and made her eyes sparkle. When Tim, the hackman, went into town with his first load he was forewarned by Aunty Rose that he would have company going back. “Pitcher of George Washington!” exclaimed Tim. “The boys will near ’bout take a holiday. You tell her to put on her red hood and a blue hair-ribbon, and she’ll be as purty as a posy to go a-visiting.” “Never mind what she wears, Timothy,” said Aunty Rose sternly. “You see that she gets back here safely.” “Surest thing you know, Miz Kennedy,” agreed the man. Carolyn May—and, of course, Prince—were ready when Tim came back with the empty sled, or “jumper,” as he called it. He had thrown a number of sacks upon it, on which she might sit, and they started off briskly. The bells on the horses’ collars jingled a merry tune. Prince bounded about the sled in wild delight, barking madly. Such an adventure as this was quite to his liking. “I vow!” croaked Timothy, “I’ve often thought I’d like to be a dog—some men’s dog, I mean. They ain’t got nothin’ to trouble ’em—’nless it’s a few fleas. And maybe _they_ ain’t such a heavy cross and burden. They give the dog good healthy exercise a-scratchin’ of ’em.