d opposite where people went for the summer, but they had what they
called a team-boat, that is, a boat with machinery to make it go, that
could be worked by horses. There were eight horses that went around and
around, and made the boat go. One afternoon, two dancing masters, who
were wicked fellows, that played the fiddle, and never went to church on
Sundays, got on the boat, and sat just where the horses had to pass them
as they went around.

Every time the horses went by, they jabbed them with their penknives.
The man who was driving the horses at last saw the blood dripping from
them, and the dancing masters were found out. Some young men on the boat
were so angry that they caught up a rope's end, and gave the dancing
masters a lashing, and then threw them into the water and made them swim
to the island.

When this boy took a seat, a young girl read some verses that she had
clipped from a newspaper:

"Don't kill the toads, the ugly toads,
That hop around your door;
Each meal the little toad doth eat
A hundred bugs or more.

"He sits around with aspect meek,
Until the bug hath neared,
Then shoots he forth his little tongue
Like lightning double-geared.

"And then he soberly doth wink,
And shut his ugly mug,
And patiently doth wait until
There comes another bug."

Mr. Maxwell told a good dog story after this. He said the president need
not have any fears as to its truth, for it had happened in his boarding
house in the village, and he had seen it himself. Monday, the day
before, being wash-day, his landlady had put out a large washing. Among
the clothes on the line was a gray flannel shirt belonging to her
husband. The young dog belonging to the house had pulled the shirt from
the line and torn it to pieces. The woman put it aside and told him
master would beat him. When the man came home to his dinner, he showed
the dog the pieces of the shirt, and gave him a severe whipping. The dog
ran away, visited all the clothes lines in the village, till he found a
gray shirt very like his master's. He seized it and ran home, laying it
at his master's feet, joyfully wagging his tail meanwhile.

Mr. Maxwell's story done, a bright-faced boy, called Simon Grey, got up
and said: "You all know our old gray horse Ned. Last week father sold
him to a man in Hoytville, and I went to the station when he was
shipped. He was put in a box car. The doors were left a little open to
give him air