e rear a foot or so
of bare pole as a smart caudal appendage, bearing about the same
proportion to the wagon as the neatly bitten tail of a fox-terrier does to
the dog.

Mrs. Yellett kissed "paw" good-bye, explaining to Mary, in extenuation of
her weakness, that she would never forgive herself if she neglected it and
anything happened to him during her absence. She then climbed to the front
barrel and secured the ribbons. Leander had brought out three rolls of
bedding of the inevitable bed-quilt variety, but Mrs. Yellett scorned such
luxury while driving, and accordingly gave hers to the "gov'ment" for a
back-rest. Mary sat on the lower row of barrels, with her feet dangling,
using one roll of bedding for a seat and the other comfortably arranged at
her back as a cushion.

Madam called sharply to the horses, "Hi-hi-hi-kerat! hi-kerat-kerat!" and
they started off at a rattling pace, the barrels of dip creaking and
squeaking as they swayed under their rope lashings. Mary bounced about
like a bean in a bag, working loose from between the bed-quilt rolls at
each gulley, clinging frantically to barrel ends, shaken back and forth
like a shuttle. Indeed, the drive seemed to combine every known form of
physical exercise. Mrs. Yellett herself was in fine fettle; she drove
sitting for a while, then rose, standing on a narrow ledge while she held
the four ribbons lightly in one hand and tickled the leaders with a long
whip carried in the other. She drove her four horses over the rough road
with the skill of a circus equestrienne, balancing easily on the crazy
ledge, shifting her weight from side to side as the wagon rattled down
gullies and up ridges, the horses responding gallantly to the shrill
"Hi-hi-kerat! hi-kerat! hi-kerat!" Her costume on this occasion
represented joint concessions to her sex and the work that was before her,
as the head of a family at the dipping-vat. She still wore the drum-shaped
rabbit-skin cap pulled well down over her forehead for driving. The great,
cable-like braids of hair stood out well below the cap, giving her head an
appearance of denseness and solidity, but the rambling curls were still
blowing about her face, perhaps adding to the sum total of grotesqueness.
She wore a man's shirt of gray flannel, well open at the neck, from which
the bronzed column of the throat rose in austere dignity. A pair of Mr.
Yellett's trousers, stuffed into high, cow-puncher's boots, that met the
hem of a skirt com