and began to move his tail violently up
and down. Presently he pricked up one ear and let the other hang; his
tail became motionless, and the expression of his mouth was one of
decided disapproval bordering on scorn. He wrinkled his lips up on each
side into little lines.

The sand was soft, and the grey mare came on so noiselessly that the boy
heard nothing till Bonaparte dismounted. Then Doss got up and moved back
a step. He did not approve of Bonaparte's appearance. His costume,
in truth, was of a unique kind. It was a combination of the town and
country. The tails of his black cloth coat were pinned up behind to keep
them from rubbing; he had on a pair of moleskin trousers and leather
gaiters, and in his hand he carried a little whip of rhinoceros hide.

Waldo started and looked up. Had there been a moment's time he would
have dug a hole in the sand with his hands and buried his treasure. It
was only a toy of wood, but he loved it, as one of necessity loves what
has been born of him, whether of the flesh or spirit. When cold eyes
have looked at it, the feathers are rubbed off our butterfly's wing
forever.

"What have you here, my lad?" said Bonaparte, standing by him, and
pointing with the end of his whip to the medley of wheels and hinges.

The boy muttered something inaudible, and half spread over the thing.

"But this seems to be a very ingenious little machine," said Bonaparte,
seating himself on the antheap, and bending down over it with deep
interest. "What is it for, my lad?"

"Shearing sheep."

"It is a very nice little machine," said Bonaparte. "How does it work,
now? I have never seen anything so ingenious!"

There was never a parent who heard deception in the voice that praised
his child--his first-born. Here was one who liked the thing that had
been created in him. He forgot everything. He showed how the shears
would work with a little guidance, how the sheep would be held, and the
wool fall into the trough. A flush burst over his face as he spoke.

"I tell you what, my lad," said Bonaparte emphatically, when the
explanation was finished, "we must get you a patent. Your fortune is
made. In three years' time there'll not be a farm in this colony where
it isn't working. You're a genius, that's what you are!" said Bonaparte,
rising.

"If it were made larger," said the boy, raising his eyes, "it would work
more smoothly. Do you think there would be any one in this colony would
be able to make it