Then you should have seen the chips fly! Down came the trees, one after the other, and finally the one to which our steed was lashed. The gas soon escaped through great holes torn by the limbs, and our gallant craft was robbed of its power. Standing upon one of the fallen trees I made the sketch you see before you. We found upon inquiring that we had landed in Potter county, Pennsylvania; and consulting our watches, found we had travelled one hundred and twenty-five miles in about two hours. We were made comfortable at a lumberman's cabin, [Illustration: THE WRECK OF THE "BUFFALO."] and managed to get out of the woods in a couple of days where we could telegraph to our friends. It cannot be denied that after the excitement had passed we felt very much like an old farmer who listened to our adventures. He said: "Mebbe some folks prefer to travel in a flying Beelzebub, but I'm willin' to git along in a buck-board with a good road to put my feet agin when I git off." _You'll_ say, now, "I guess that race was enough for you!" But you're wrong; for I've had several trips since; and now you've a perfect right to retort, "Well! you are a bigger _balloonatic_ than I took you for." Perhaps you're right. AUGUST'S "'SPERIMENT." August _was_ rather a troublesome boy. Generous and jolly,--his playmates called him a firstrate good fellow, but older people complained that he was curious, meddlesome, and always "cluttering round." But here is mamma's opinion: "August was born to be busy. He is inventive too. He asks questions to gain information, and he handles things to see how they are made." "What is he tinkering at now, mamma?" asked Tom. "He has got hold of an old, old book, full of _f ss_, and all yellow; he's rigged two pans in a barrel, and bought a naptha lamp, and locked us all out of the attic." "And he just came in with a covered basket, mamma," said Katie, "carrying it ever so carefully. I was jumping rope in the hall, and he asked me not to joggle. What do you suppose he was doing, mamma?" "Suppose we wait till he tells us," said mamma, smiling. "He's only trying some of his 'speriments," said wise little Robbie, aged five. After the children went out, mamma took up her work and sat down by the window, watching the three outside, and waiting for her oldest boy, August, who presently came to take her into his confidence. "Mamma, I am trying an experiment." "And is that something new, August?" with an encouraging smile. "But the _kind_ is new, mamma. Did you ever hear of Reaumur?" "Who wrote that curious old book on the art of hatching fowls by artificial incubation? Yes, August." "Then will you come and see, mamma, what _I_ have begun to do?" He led the way, two steps at a time, to the attic. When they reached the door, August drew from his pocket a key, and unlocked it and led his mother in.