m--nobody seemed anxious to lend good
harness.

Grits and thin Hector were the leaders, and Polly and old Selim were the
pole-horses, so to speak.

When all the straps were buckled, and the chains hooked, and the knots
tied (and this took a good while as there were only twelve men and boys
to do it), Dick Ford jumped on old Selim, little Johnny Sand, as black
as ink, was hoisted on Grits, and Gregory Montague, a tall yellow boy,
with high boots and no toes to them, bestrode thin Hector. Harry, Tom,
and nine negroes (two more had just come into the yard) jumped on the
sled. Dick Ford cracked his whip; Kate stood on the back-door step and
clapped her hands; all the darkies shouted; Tom and Harry hurrahed; and
away they did not go.

Polly was not ready.

And what was more, old brown Selim was perfectly willing to wait for
her. He looked around mildly at the little mule, as if he would say:
"Now, don't be in a hurry, my good Polly. Be sure you're right before
you go ahead."

Polly was quite sure she was not right, and stood as stiffly as if she
had been frozen to the ground, and all the cracking of whips and
shouting of "Git up!" "Go 'long!" "What do you mean, dar? you Polly!"
made no impression on her.

Then Harry made his voice heard above the hubbub.

"Never mind Polly!" he shouted. "Let her alone. Dick, and you other
fellows, just start off your own horses. Now, then! Get up, all of you!"

At this, every rider whipped up his horse or his mule, and spurred him
with his heels, and every darkey shouted, "Hi, dar!" and off they went,
rattledy-bang!

Polly went, too. There was never such an astonished little mule in this
world! Out of the gate they all whirled at full gallop, and up the road,
tearing along. Negroes shouting, chains rattling, snow flying back from
sixteen pounding hoofs, sled cutting through the snow like a ship at
sea, and a little darkey shooting out behind at every bounce over a
rough place!

"Hurrah!" cried Harry, holding tight to an upright pole. "Isn't this
splendid!"

"Splendid! It's glorious!" shouted Tom. "It's better than being a pi--"
And down he went on his knees, as the big sled banged over a stone in
the road, and Josephine's Bobby was bounced out into a snow-drift under
a fence.

Whether Tom intended to say a pirate or a pyrotechnic, was never
discovered; but, in six minutes, there was only one of the small darkies
left on the sled. The men, and this one, John William Webster,