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A sly chuck, and some mysterious manoeuvre with the reins, and Bob started off at a brisk trot, as if he objected to the old lady as much as her mischievous little nephew.

“Hold him in! Keep a taut rein! Lord ‘a mercy, he’s running away!” shrieked Aunt Kipp, or tried to shriek, for the bouncing and bumping jerked the words out of her mouth with ludicrous incoherency.

“I am holding him, but he will go,” said Toady, with a wicked triumph in his eye as he glanced back at Polly.

The next minute the words were quite true; for, as he spoke, two or three distracted hens flew squalling over the wall and scattered about, under, over, and before the horse, as only distracted hens could do. It was too much for Bob’s nerves; and, taking matters into his own hands, or feet, rather, he broke into a run, and rattled the old lady over the stones with a velocity which left her speechless.

Polly laughed, and Toady chuckled, as they caught glimpses of the awful bonnet vibrating wildly in the background, and felt the frantic clutchings of the old lady’s hands. But both grew sober as a shrill car-whistle sounded not far off; and Bob, as if possessed by an evil spirit, turned suddenly into the road that led to the railroad crossing.

“That will do, Toady; now pull up, for we can’t get over in time,” said Polly, glancing anxiously toward the rapidly approaching puffs of white smoke.

“I can’t, Polly,–I really can’t,” cried the boy, tugging with all his might, and beginning to look scared.

Polly lent her aid; but Bob scarcely seemed to feel it, for he had been a racer once, and when his blood was up he was hard to handle. His own good sense might have checked him, if Aunt Kipp hadn’t unfortunately recovered her voice at this crisis, and uttered a succession of the shrillest screams that ever saluted mortal ears. With a snort and a bound Bob dashed straight on toward the crossing, as the train appeared round the bend.

“Let me out! Let me out! Jump! Jump!” shrieked Aunt Kipp, thrusting her head out of the window, while she fumbled madly for the door-handle.

“O Toady, save us! save us!” gasped Polly, losing her presence of mind, and dropping the reins to cling to her brother, with a woman’s instinctive faith in the stronger sex.

But Toady held on manfully, though his arms were nearly pulled off, for “Never say die,” was his motto, and the plucky little lad wouldn’t show fear before the women.

“Don’t howl; we’ll do it! Hi, Bob!” and with a savage slash of the whip, an exciting cry, a terrible reeling and rattling, they did do it; for Bob cleared the track at a breakneck pace, just in time for the train to sweep swiftly by behind them.

Aunt Kipp dropped in a heap, Polly looked up at her brother, with a look which he never forgot; and Toady tried to say, stoutly, “It’s all right!” with lips that were white and dry in spite of himself.

“We shall smash up at the bridge,” he muttered, as they tore through the town, where every one obligingly shouted, waved their hats, and danced about on the sidewalks, doing nothing but add to Bob’s fright and the party’s danger. But Toady was wrong,–they did not smash up at the bridge; for, before they reached the perilous spot, one man had the sense to fly straight at the horse’s head and hold on till the momentary check enabled others to lend a hand.

The instant they were safe, Polly, like a regular heroine, threw herself into the arms of her dishevelled preserver, who of course was Van, and would have refreshed herself with hysterics if the sight of Toady hadn’t steadied her. The boy sat as stiff and rigid as a wooden figure till they took the reins from him; then all the strength seemed to go out of him, and he leaned against his sister, as white and trembling as she, whispering with an irrepressible sob,–