“Oh, _I_ never ride in that omnibus;” and the tall figure disappeared among the trees. He was gone; but Mokes remained, eyes and all. Mokes had large eyes; in fact very large, and pale green; but his fortune was large also, and Aunt Diana had a prophetic soul. Was not Iris her dear sister’s child? So she marshaled us into the omnibus, which started off across the thicket, through the ever-present and never-mended mud hole, and out into a straight road leading toward the town through the deep white sand, which, logged over with the red legs of the saw-palmetto, forms the cheerful soil of Eastern Florida. The road was built on a causeway over a river and its attendant salt marshes; on the east side we could see two flags and the two spires of the city rising above the green. “What river is this?” asked Aunt Diana, as we rolled over a red bridge. “The San Sebastian,” replied Miss Sharp, reading slowly from her guide-book in the fading light. “‘After three hours and one-half of this torture the exhausted tourist finds himself at the San Sebastian River, where a miserable ferry conveys him, more dead than alive, to the city of St. Augustine.’” “But here is no ferry,” I said. “The ‘exhausted tourist,’ however, is here,” observed Sara, wearily. “The guide-book is at least so far correct that we may reasonably conclude this to be the St. Sebastian--so called, I presume, from the mythical saint of that name,” remarked the Professor, peering out over his spectacles. “Allow me,” said Miss Sharp, eagerly producing a second small volume from her basket. “This saint was, I believe, thrown into a well--no, that isn’t it. He was cast into a dungeon, and rescued by--by flying dragons--” [Illustration: PLAZA AND MONUMENT.] “Oh no, Miss Sharp,” said Iris, as the baffled governess wrestled with the fine print. “Sebastian was the one noted for his arrows; don’t you remember the picture in my hand-book?”