and some was rope and some was chain. It was gathered together from
various quarters, like the team--nobody seemed anxious to lend good
harness.

Grits and thin Hector were the leaders, and Polly and old Selim were the
pole-horses, so to speak.

When all the straps were buckled, and the chains hooked, and the knots
tied (and this took a good while as there were only twelve men and boys
to do it), Dick Ford jumped on old Selim, little Johnny Sand, as black
as ink, was hoisted on Grits, and Gregory Montague, a tall yellow boy,
with high boots and no toes to them, bestrode thin Hector. Harry, Tom,
and nine negroes (two more had just come into the yard) jumped on the
sled. Dick Ford cracked his whip; Kate stood on the back-door step and
clapped her hands; all the darkies shouted; Tom and Harry hurrahed; and
away they did not go.

Polly was not ready.

And what was more, old brown Selim was perfectly willing to wait for
her. He looked around mildly at the little mule, as if he would say:
"Now, don't be in a hurry, my good Polly. Be sure you're right before
you go ahead."

Polly was quite sure she was not right, and stood as stiffly as if she
had been frozen to the ground, and all the cracking of whips and
shouting of "Git up!" "Go 'long!" "What do you mean, dar? you Polly!"
made no impression on her.

Then Harry made his voice heard above the hubbub.