“I’ll go and give him a hand!” exclaimed Neale, and before any one knew what his intention was he ran down the stairs, out to the lower forward deck of the craft, and leaped across the intervening water to the towpath, an easy feat for a lad as agile as Neale O’Neil.
“What’s the matter, Hank?” those on the Bluebird could hear Neale ask the driver.
“Oh, Arabella is feeling rather frisky, I guess,” was the answer. “She hasn’t had much work to do lately, and she’s showing off!” Arabella was the name of one of the mules.
Neale, born in a circus, knew a good deal about animals, and it did not take him and Hank Dayton long to subdue the fractious Arabella. After she had kicked up her heels a few more times, just to show her contempt for the authority of the whiffle-tree and the traces, she quieted down. The other mule, a more sedate animal, looked at his companion in what might have been disgust mingled with distrust.
“Are they all right now?” asked Ruth, as Neale leaped aboard the boat again.
“Oh, yes. Hank can manage ’em all right. He just had to let Arabella have her kick out. She’s all right now. Isn’t this fun, though?” and Neale breathed in deeply of the fresh air.
“Oh, Neale, it’s glorious!” and Agnes’ eyes sparkled.
The day had turned out a lovely one after the hard shower, and everything was fresh and green. They had reached the outskirts of Milton by this time, and were approaching the open country through which the canal meandered before joining the river. On either side of the towpath were farms and gardens, with a house set here and there amid the green fields or orchards.
Now and then other boats were passed. At such times one of the craft would have to slow up to let the tow-rope sink into the canal, so the other boat might pass over it. The mules hee-hawed to each other as they met, and Hank exchanged salutations with the other drivers.
“I think it’s just the loveliest way to spend a vacation that ever could be thought of,” said Agnes to Mr. Howbridge.