r
the orchard, and broke the mainspring of his watch.

It got so that the livery rig a young man drove was an index to his
thoughts. If he had a stylish team that was right up on the bit, and full
of vinegar, and he braced himself and pulled for all that was out, and the
girl sat back in the corner of the buggy, looking as though she should
faint away if a horse got his tail over a line, then people said that
couple was all right, and there was no danger that they would be on
familiar terms.

But if they started out with a slow old horse that looked as though all he
wanted was to be left alone, however innocent the party might look, people
knew just as well as though they had seen it, that when they got out on
the road, or when night came on, that fellow's arm would steal
around her waist, and she would snug up to him, and--Oh, pshaw, you have
heard it before.

Well, late years the livery men have "got onto the racket," as they say at
the church sociables, They have found that horses that know their business
are in demand, and so horses are trained for this purpose. They are
trained on purpose for out-door sparking. It is not an uncommon thing to
see a young fellow drive up to the house where his girl lives with a team
that is just tearing things. They prance, and champ the bit, and the young
man seems to pull on them as though his liver was coming out. The horses
will hardly stand still long enough for the girl to get in, and then they
start off and seem to split the air wide open, and the neighbors say,
"Them children will get all smashed up one of these days."

The girl's mother and father see the team start, and their minds
experience a relief as they reflect that "as long as John drives that
frisky team there can't be no hugging a going on." The girl's older sister
sighs and says, "That's so," and goes to her room and laughs right out
loud.

It would be instructive to the scientists to watch that team for a few
miles. The horses fairly foam, before they get out of town, but striking
the country road, the fiery steeds come down to a walk, and they mope
along as though they had always worked on a hearse. The shady woods are
reached, and the carriage scarcely moves, and the horses seem to be
walking in their sleep. The lines are loose on the dash board, and the
left arm of the driver is around the pretty girl, and they are talking
low. It is not necessary to talk loud, as they are so near each other that
the fai