ennebec River, just
outside of Skowhegan. Neither did he observe that the elephants were
separating themselves from the rest of the train, until, just as the
gilded chariot passed on the bridge, the animal Philemon rode broke into
a trot--and what a trot!--starting down the river-bank, followed by the
other four elephants. Philemon clung with both his hands.

Into the stream plunged the beasts, wading clumsily along until the
water was breast-high, when they began to swim. Philemon stuck like a
little burr to the gray back.

At last the elephants gained a foot-hold once more. But they were by no
means ready to give up the cool water. They snorted; they tramped; they
plunged; they sucked the water into their trunks, and poured it out
again in great streams. Never had Philemon had such a shower-bath. One
of the elephants lay down and rolled playfully over and over. Philemon
was frightened nearly out of his wits: suppose his elephant should do
likewise? Instead of that, he rose to within a few feet of the bank,
and, having first treated his rider to a few extra bucketfuls of water,
twisted his trunk round one of Philemon's legs.

There was a jerk, a dizzy whirl through the air, and our friend lay
"high," but by no means "dry," upon the earth.

The crowd gathered round. He heard Tom Tadgers's voice in a terrified
wail: "He's dead! he's dead!"

Then some one else spoke: "Bring water."

That was adding insult to injury. Up as straight as a ramrod sat the
afflicted Philemon. "If anybody dares to put another drop of water on
me, I'll--I'll--I'll go _home_!" gasped he.

There was a burst of merriment at that tremendous threat, and the young
hero was lifted on some one's shoulder, and borne along in triumph.
Strange to say, he was not even bruised, and he almost forgot his
mishap, when, an hour later, he was permitted to help in spreading tan
around the open space where Madame Lucetta Almazida was to ride the
famous horse Pegasus, and perform her "world-renowned feat" of jumping
through seventeen hoops and a "barrel wrapped in flames."

That noon Philemon was actually invited to dine with Mons. Duval, the
"incomparable gymnast," and a host of other circus celebrities.

"You're a plucky little fellow, and fit to feed along o' us," said Mons.
Duval, with a grin.

Philemon was much pleased by the compliment, which, though perchance not
expressed in the most refined language, showed a kindly appreciation of
his merits.