Of course, there is no reason in nature why a wooden bull should be more pleasing than a flesh-and-blood bull, but it seems to encourage the company, and they set off again with renewed speed, and at last reach India Wharf in time to see the Nahant steamer packed full of excursionists, with a crowd of people still waiting to go aboard. It does not look inviting, and they hesitate. In a minute or two their spirits sink so low, that if they should see the wooden bull step out of a grotto on the deck of the steamer the spectacle could not revive them. At that instant they think, with a surprising singleness, of Nantasket Beach, and the bright colors in which the Gardens of Maolis but now appeared fade away, and they seem to see themselves sauntering along the beautiful shore, while the white-crested breakers crash upon the sand, and run up “In tender-curving lines of creamy spray,” quite to the feet of that lotus-eating party. “Nahant is all rocks,” says the leader to Aunt Melissa, who hears him with a sweet and tranquil patience, and who would enjoy or suffer anything with the same expression; “and as you've never yet seen the open sea, it's fortunate that we go to Nantasket, for, of course, a beach is more characteristic. But now the object is to get there. The boat will be starting in a few moments, and I doubt whether we can walk it. How far is it,” he asks, turning toward a respectable-looking man, “to Liverpool Wharf?” “Well, it's consid'able ways,” says the man, smiling. “Then we must take a hack,” says the pleasurer to his party. “Come on.” “I've got a hack,” observes the man, in a casual way, as if the fact might possibly interest. “O, you have, have you? Well, then, put us into it, and drive to Liverpool Wharf; and hurry.” Either the distance was less than the hackman fancied, or else he drove thither with unheard-of speed, for two minutes later he set them down on Liverpool Wharf. But swiftly as they had come the steamer had been even more prompt, and she now turned toward them a beautiful wake, as she pushed farther and farther out into the harbor. The hackman took his two dollars for his four passengers, and was rapidly mounting his box,--probably to avoid idle reproaches. “Wait!” said the chief pleasurer. Then, “When does the next boat leave?” he asked of the agent, who had emerged with a compassionate face from the waiting-rooms on the wharf. “At half past two.” “And it's now five minutes past nine,” moaned the merrymakers. “Why, I'll tell you what you can do,” said the agent; “you can go to Hingham by the Old Colony cars, and so come back by the Hull and Hingham boat.” “That's it!” chorused his listeners, “we'll go;” and “Now,” said their spokesman to the driver, “I dare say you didn't know that Liverpool Wharf was so near; but I don't think you've earned your money, and you ought to take us on to the Old Colony Depot for half-fares at the most.”