But Bill’s entreaties were all in vain, and his distress was at its height, when fortunately his thoughts were diverted in another channel. At a sudden turn of the road a gust of wind lifted the old palmleaf from his woolly head, and carried it far away. “Now, dear Mars’r,” said Bill, laying his hand on that of Mr. Delafield, “you’ll sartin let ’em breathe while I picks up my hat, ’case you see how’ll you look gwine into town wid a barheaded nigger. In de Lord’s name, stop,” he continued, as he saw in his master no signs of relenting. Glancing over his shoulder Mr. Delafield saw the hat away over the fields, and quietly taking a bill from his pocket and placing it in the negro’s hand, he replied; “That will buy you five such hats.” “Yes, but de hosses, lor’ a mighty, de hosses!” exclaimed Bill almost frantically, “Don’t you see Ferd is gwine to gin out?” Mr. Delafield feared so, too, and more to himself than to his servant, he said, “perhaps the cars will be behind time, they usually are.” Without considering the consequences, Bill answered, “No they won’t; case I hear how they hired a tarin’ Yankee for an _engine_, and he drives all afore him—gits ahead of de time and all dat.” The next minute he repented a speech whose disastrous effects he foresaw, and he was about to deny it as a fabrication of his own brain, when his master, who really saw signs of lagging in the nervous, fiery Ferd, said, “Bill, you have a peculiar whistle with which you spur up the horses—make it now; Ferd has run himself almost down.” “De Lord have massy on us,” groaned Bill, wiping away a tear; then, as Mr. Delafield repeated his order, he said, in a whining tone, “Can’t, mars’r, no how; case you see my throat is dreffle sore, ridin’ barheaded so in the breeze which you kicks up—can’t, no how.” “But you must,” persisted Mr. Delafield. Bill still refused, until at last, as they approached the town, they heard a heavy, rumbling sound. It was the roll of cars in the distance, and starting up, Mr. Delafield seized the negro by the shoulder and in thunder tones called out, “Whistle.” “Lord, mars’r I will, I will,” gasped Bill, terrified at the fiery gleam of his master’s eye, and from his mouth there issued a most unearthly sound, which mingled with the shriek of the fast coming engine, urged on the jaded horses to one more desperate effort. A few more mad plunges and they reached the dépôt, covered with foam and frothing at the mouth, just as the train was moving slowly away. With one pitying farewell glance at his dying greys, Mr. Delafield exclaimed, “Cut the harness instantly,” and then with a bound sprung upon the platform, which he reached just as Bill called after him in mournful accents, “Ferd’s dead, mars’r, Ferd is,” while, mingled with the roar of the machinery he caught the faint echo of something about “t’other half bucket of water!”