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At nine o'clock of an evening in March, with a howling gale blowing and rain pouring in torrents, traveling it is an experience. Winnie S., who drives the East Wellmouth depot-wagon, had undergone the experience several times in the course of his professional career, but each time he vowed vehemently that he would not repeat it; he would "heave up" his job first. He was vowing it now.
That afternoon, once more in the depot-wagon, which had been refitted with its fourth wheel, Thankful, on her way to the Wellmouth railway station, passed her "property." The old house, its weather-beaten shingles a cold gray in the half-light of the mist-shrouded, sinking sun, looked lonely and deserted.
The depot-wagon jerked on for a few feet and then, with a crack, settled down to port in a most alarming fashion. Winnie S. settled down with it, still holding tight to the reins and roaring commands to General Jackson at the top of his lungs. "Whoa!" he hollered. "Whoa! Stand still! Stand still where you be! Whoa!" General Jackson stood still. Generally speaking he needed but one hint to do that.
And now, shut up in the back part of the depot-wagon, with the roaring wind and splashing, beating rain outside, Thankful's references to fish and ducks and mermaids, even to Mount Ararat, seemed to Emily quite appropriate. They had planned to spend the night at the East Wellmouth hotel and visit the Barnes' property in the morning.
What kind of a life's THIS, I want to know?" From the curtain depths of the depot-wagon behind him a voice answered, a woman's voice: "Judgin' by the amount of dampness in it I should think you might call it a duck's life," it suggested. Winnie S. accepted this pleasantry with a grunt. "I 'most wish I was a duck," he declared, savagely.
And don't let none of them Boston fellers carry you off. We'll watch and see that Eddie Raymond and Al here don't get into mischief while you're gone. I . . . Crimustee! Jim Young, what in time's the matter with you? Can't ye see nothin'?" This last outburst was directed at the driver of the depot-wagon, who, wheeling a trunk on a baggage truck, had bumped violently into the rear of Mr.
"It burned itself out and I forgot it. Mercy on us! You're not goin' back after that, I hope." "Well, I dunno. That lantern belongs to the old man dad, I mean and he sets a lot of store by it. If I've lost that lantern on him, let alone leavin' his depot-wagon all stove up, he'll give me " "Never mind what he'll give you," broke in Captain Bangs.
And her dyin' was what set me to thinkin' of cruisin' down here to East Wellmouth and lookin' at the property Uncle Abner left me. I've never laid eyes on that property and I don't even know what the house looks like. I might have asked that depot-wagon driver, but I thought 'twas no use tellin' him my private affairs, so I said we was bound to the hotel, and let it go at that.
The mortgage is all right and as for the other thing well, that will be all right, too. You won't worry, will you?" "No, no; I'll be too busy to worry. And you'll come down for the Christmas vacation? You will, won't you?" "I'll try . . . I mean I will if I can arrange it. Good-by, dear." The depot-wagon rattled out of the yard. Winnie S. pulled up at the gate to shout a bit of news. "Say, Mrs.
And the following evening young Phillips came. Jed, looking from his shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw up at the gate. Barbara was the first to alight. Philander Hardy came around to the back of the vehicle and would have assisted her, but she jumped down without his assistance. Then came Ruth and, after her, a slim young fellow carrying a traveling bag.
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