He hoisted it endwise with one hand on to the front seat; took his place beside it; gathered up the reins, and said to the boy:
"Let 'em go, Pete. You get up behind."
But the horses did not go. They snorted, threw up their heads, flourished their long tails, one of them showed his heels, and both cavorted to the wild delight of the assembled crowd.
Some emphatic words from the coachman, and judicious application of the whiplash, soon showed the young thoroughbreds what was wanted of them, and they trotted slowly, heavily, but steadily, down the road beside the river, Pete, who was behind on a curious tail extension, shouting to the small boys as he passed them.
After the horses had settled down to real work, my driver turned to me.
"Did you come through last night clear from New York?"
"Yes, and I 'm glad to get here; this air is wonderful."
"Thet 's what they all say when they strike Canady fer the fust time. I take it it's your fust time?"
"Yes, I 'm a stranger here."
"Speakin' 'bout air—I can't see much difference 'twixt good air most anywheres. Take it, now, up in New England, up north where I was raised, you can't get better nowheres. Thet comes drorrin' through the mountains and acrosst the Lake, an' it can't be beat."