At Mendota they left their cars, and entered those of the Illinois Central Railroad. There were several trains there, and a great number of passengers hurrying to and fro, and rushing in to dinner. Norman ran first into one store, and then into another, to buy some torpedoes, as he was very anxious to make some noise, to give vent to his patriotic feeling. He came back with a large box full, just in time, for the train was soon in motion. And the passengers too, for the road was so rough that the people went dancing up and down in the most violent manner. Mrs. Lester asked the conductor if the road was so rough all the way? No, he said; they had passed over the worst of it. And with that hope Mrs. Lester tried to enjoy the beautiful prairies, and the noble view of the Illinois River as seen from the high embankment over which the road passes. Norman would like to have seen the “Starved Rock,” somewhere on this river, whither some Indians, pursued by their enemies, fled for refuge. They were surrounded, and all escape from the rock prevented by their encircling foes, who, day after day, waited for them to surrender. At length they scaled the rock, and found the garrison all starved to death but one squaw, who calmly awaited the entrance of her enemies. The Starved Rock, however, was not in sight, nor was any rock recalling thrilling legend and heroic story; but another prospect, not so agreeable, from the rear of the car near which they were seated—a long strait road, the rails of which were rather too much curved to suggest ideas of safety. “Don’t you think this road very unsafe?” inquired Mrs. Lester of a gentleman who was contemplating this retrospective view of dangers passed. “Not _very_, but it might be safer.” Up and down jumped all that car-load of passengers, whose faces wore not the calmest and brightest expression. Suddenly there was an explosion that startled people rather ready to be startled, and Mrs. Lester, remembering the torpedoes, turned to Norman, who was looking out of the rear window, and said reproachfully, “Norman, how can you do so?” Every eye was directed toward the blushing lad, as he earnestly exclaimed, “Mother, it was not me.” Returning to his seat he looked for the torpedoes, which he found had been jolted off the seat on the floor under his mother’s feet, and a sudden movement of her foot had caused the explosion of ten or twelve of them. “There, mother, it was you after all,” said Norman, as he gathered up his remaining torpedoes.