It was to me a large sum, for my income was only four dollars and twenty-five cents a month. But my fear of ridicule had the persuasiveness of a thumb-screw. I had two dollars and nineteen cents that I had been saving for the fair at Heartsdale. With great solemnity I took the two-dollar bill out of my pocket and put it in the hand of my oppressor. “I'm going for a drive to-night,” he said, as he took the money. “It's a matter of business that 'll pay me pretty well, and I may need some help. Come along, and I'll pay you back the money I've borrowed and a dollar besides.” “Where to?” I inquired. “Oh, down the country about fifteen miles. I'm going to get a Bungwood cow for a friend o' mine.” “A Bungwood cow!” I exclaimed. “An imported breed,” said he, “and the best in the world. They're frisky and a little dangerous.” That seemed to me rather curious, but, then, I did not know much about cows. It was a greater compliment than I had ever received--the invitation of this imperial and heroic figure; but I concealed my joy with a look of calmness. “When are you coming back?” I inquired. The jaunty fellow crossed the floor, rattling his change and singing, “Oh, we won't go home till morning!” He turned quickly and said, with a sober face: “I'll get ye here in good season. Tell 'em you're going to stay with a friend, an' will be back in the morning.” I lied about it, for I knew that Mr. Weatherby had no high opinion of Bony Squares, and got permission to go. At seven o'clock that evening I set out for the corner below Mill Pond, where Bony, with a horse and a buckboard, was to wait for me. There he was, and away we went; and the horse's hoofs beat time for a lively ditty sung by my new friend. The chill night fell, and a sense of sadness and regret was in me. To what place he drove, or how long it took him to get there, I know not even now. After a long time I fell asleep. A rude shake and the light of a lantern awoke me. I got out of the buggy in a shed back of a little church. “Now for a boat-ride,” said my companion; “then a short drive, and we'll be on our way home again.” “Where you going?” “After the cow, of course.” I followed him a few rods to the shore of a great river. A man stood in a boat near by, as if waiting for us. I had never seen so much water; it sped and shimmered in the moonlight far from shore, and beyond was the mystery of the night. The loud voices of the river filled me with awe, and our boat creaked and swerved in roaring currents, and the boatman grew weary with his struggle, and breathed like a spent horse by and by. I knew it was the St. Lawrence, and wondered if he were going to swim the cow through its whirlpools and rapids.