We made but a short stay in Jacksonville, then hurried on to St. Augustine, where a former acquaintance of Julius's was living with his family. We had to take a river steamer to Tocoi,—called Decoy by many, for obvious reasons,—then journey across to the coast on a tiny railway.

The steamboat on the St. John's was a first experience of the kind for Bruno, who seemed to enjoy it greatly, for the boat had but few passengers beside ourselves, and we went up and down stairs at will, making him several visits in his quarters on the lower deck.

Things were even more informal on the little railway. There was no one about when we boarded the train; so Bruno followed us into the passenger coach, crept under the seat, doubling himself up like a shut knife, and, totally effaced by the time the conductor came around, rode first-class for once. It seemed such a treat for us all to be together as we journeyed, that our short ride across from "Decoy" to the coast stands out in memory as the pleasantest part of the journey.

We were met at St. Augustine by Julius's friend, and, as he bore a pressing invitation for us from his family, we stopped that first day with them, so that they might have their fill of news from their friends and relatives whom we had seen just before starting to Florida.

They kindly urged us to stay longer, but we thought that two people and a dog made a formidable party to entertain as visitors; so we hunted up a pleasant boarding-house, and settled ourselves for a two weeks' stay.

All three of us found much to surprise us in the old town; but by far the greatest sensation was Bruno's when we first took him out for a run, and he promptly made a dash into one of the creeks as the tide was flowing in, and took a big drink. He was warm with running, and the water looked so inviting that he had taken a number of swallows before he tasted it. Then his antics were most comical. He snorted and shook his head till his ears flapped again, and rubbed at his nose, first with one paw and then with the other. After that one lesson he never again drank from a strange pool or stream without first tasting it very gingerly, then waiting a few seconds to make sure of the after-taste. But if he objected to the taste of salt water, he found no flaw in the feeling of it.

There is no memory of him on which I so much love to dwell as on the picture he made with his tawny curls streaming backwards in the breakers when we took him out to the beach. The green-curling, foam-tipped waves were to him a perfect delight. Even his dashing out in our midst and shaking himself so that we were all drenched in an impromptu shower-bath is pleasant,—as a memory,—though at the time we scolded him, and tried to respond sternly to his waggish glances, as he gambolled about and rolled in the sand.

The salt water was new to all of us, so we spent as much time as possible on the island and the beaches.

On those days when we were confined to the mainland by showers, or by the business we were attending to between times, we used to go, towards evening, to promenade on the seawall. Then Bruno always got down in one of the basins for a swim before we returned to our temporary home.

Although it seemed like northern spring weather, some days being quite chilly, and others warm enough for summer clothes, we awoke one morning to the fact that to-morrow would be Christmas. It had seemed to us, since our arrival in St. Augustine, as if we were in a foreign country, the Spanish element was so large in proportion to the rest of the town, both in the people and their customs and in the arrangement and the construction of the city. We heard of the celebration of midnight Mass in the old Cathedral, and resolved to "assist;" but, as the evening came on crisp and chilly, our enthusiasm cooled with it. The tonic qualities of the unaccustomed salt air had inspired us with a keen interest in food and sleep; so, after fully deciding to sit up for the Mass, we were ready by half-past nine to declare that there was not a sight in the world worth the sacrifice of such a night's sleep as that for which we felt ready. So we embarked for dreamland, whence we were recalled at daylight by Bruno's excitement over a perfect din of tin trumpets and toy drums.

As we dressed, we peeped through the blinds at the processions of small boys marching by in the narrow streets below, blowing trumpets and pounding drums. The daily drills at the barracks in the old city made all the small boys of the town even more ambitious than small boys usually are to be soldiers. Apparently, every one of them had sent Santa Claus a petition to bring him something warlike for a Christmas present.

Julius delighted Bruno by taking him out and buying him a paper of candy, which he ate with much relish; then we three sat on the upper piazza on which our room opened, listening to the music and watching the processions.

It was a very strange Christmas to all three of us. The air was pleasantly warm, and green things, with roses and other flowers, were in sight in all directions.

As soon as Christmas had passed, we, with that feeling of having turned a corner, common at such times, began to hasten our preparations to go on South. We had inspected various tracts of land around St. Augustine, but had not found anything to which we felt particularly drawn. It seemed rather odd, too, to come South intending to pioneer, and then to settle in or near what the old sergeant at the Fort assured us was the oldest city in the Union.

We felt that we must, at all events, see what the wilder parts of the State were like before deciding; so we soon found ourselves speeding away again towards "Decoy," to catch the boat for a little station away down South, up the river, which was then the only route to a small settlement in the mid-lake country, where a relative was living, who had urged us to see his part of Florida before deciding on anything.

It seems odd now to think how remote south middle Florida was in those days. The point we were then trying to reach is now less than twelve hours from Jacksonville by rail. Then we travelled all night by boat, and took train at breakfast-time across to a big lake, where a tiny steamer awaited us; on this we crossed the lake, then stopped at a town on the other side, to wait for a wagon which was to come a half-day's journey to meet us.

Our message was delayed, so we spent two days at an English inn, near the big lake, where we made some friends we have kept on our list ever since. And besides these friendships, we have treasured many pleasant memories of this inn. We approached it in the twilight of a chilly, blustering day, and on entering it we were greeted by an immense open fire of light-wood, which glorified the polished floor, strewn with the skins of wild creatures killed in the near-by thickets, called hammocks or hummocks. The firelight gave fitful glimpses of old-fashioned chairs, tables, etc., and lighted up a number of large gilt-framed paintings which adorned the walls;—in short, it was a complete picture of artistic comfort. Nor was our satisfaction lessened by the fragrant odor of frying ham and hot muffins, wafted to us as we crossed the hall.

They gave us a ground-floor room in an L opening on one of the side piazzas. This arrangement suited Bruno perfectly, and therefore it pleased us. There was a small lake behind the house, and the next day Julius proposed a row. The boat was quite small, and he was then rather unskilled in the use of oars; so we coaxed Bruno to sit on the tiny wharf and see us go by.

He seemed quite willing; so we pushed off. As we floated outward, Bruno lost heart. It was too much like being left behind; so he whined and plunged in after us.

"It isn't far across," said Julius, "and a swim won't hurt him!"

So we went on, letting him follow.

Suddenly he gave a strange cry, and Julius looked around, exclaiming,—"See, he's cramping!"

We went to him as rapidly as possible, and were just in time. At the risk of upsetting us all in the deepest part of the lake—probably about fifteen feet—Julius dragged him into the boat. We then hurried back to the landing, where poor Bruno had to be helped out, and we laid him on the grass in a state of exhaustion which alarmed us greatly.

It was some hours before he was himself again, and many months before he lost a great fear of the water,—in fact, he was never afterwards the fearless water-dog of his youth.