waggon's roomy, or we'd have to leave some of your stuff to come up by
one of the teams," said he.

Mrs. Kingston was about to make apologies for the size of Frank's outfit,
but Mr. Stewart stopped her.

"It's all right, Mrs. Kingston. The lad might just as well be comfortable
as not. He'll have plenty of roughing it, anyway. And now we've got it
all on board, we must be starting."

The moment Mrs. Kingston dreaded had now come. Throwing her arms around
Frank's neck, she clasped him passionately to her heart again and again,
and then, tearing herself away from him, rushed up the steps as if she
dared not trust herself any longer. Gulping down the big lump that rose
into his throat, Frank sprang up beside Mr. Stewart, and the next moment
they were off. But before they turned the corner Frank, looking back,
caught sight of his mother standing in the doorway, and taking off his
cap he gave her a farewell salute, calling out rather huskily his last
"good-bye" as the swiftly-moving waggon bore him away.

Mr. Stewart took much pride in his turn-out, and with good reason; for
there was not a finer pair of horses in Calumet than those that were now
trotting along before him, as if the well-filled waggon to which they
were attached was no impediment whatever. His work required him to be
much upon the road in all seasons, and he considered it well worth his
while to make the business of driving about as pleasant as possible. The
horses were iron-grays, beautifully matched in size, shape, and speed;
the harness sparkled with bright brass mountings; and the waggon, a kind
of express, with specially strong springs and comfortable seat, had
abundant room for passengers and luggage.