128 A WEEK ON WALBEN'S BIDGE. 



The road up the mountain 

 road," as it is called — is a notable j)iece of 

 work, done, I was told, by the county chain- 

 gangs. The pleasure of the ascent, which 

 naturally would have been great, was badly 

 diminished by the rain, which made it neces- 

 sary to keep the sides of the wagon down ; 

 but I was fortunate in my driver. At first 

 he seemed a stolid, uncommunicative body, 

 and when we came to the river I made sure 

 he could not read. As we 'drove upon the 

 bridge, where straight before his eyes was a 

 sign forbidding any one to drive or ride over 

 the bridge at a pace faster than a walk, un- 

 der a penalty of ^ve dollars for each offense, 

 he whipped up his horse and his mule (the 

 mule the better horse of the two), and they 

 struck into a trot. Halfway across we met 

 another wagon, and its driver too had let 

 his horses out. Illiteracy must be pretty 

 common in these parts, I said to myself. 

 But whatever my driver's educational defi- 

 ciencies, it did not take long to discover that 

 in his own line he was a master. He could 

 hit the ear of his mule with the end of his 

 whip with a precision that was almost start- 

 ling. In fact, it was startling — to the 



