The sun was going down in a haze, and it was quite warm.
Earlier in the day I had heard Mr.Morris say that this was our Indian summer, and that we should soon have cold weather.
Fairport was a pretty little town, and from the principal street one could look out upon the blue water of the bay and see the island opposite, which was quite deserted now, for all the summer visitors had gone home, and the Island House was shut op.
I was running down one of the steep side streets that led to the water when I met a heavily-laden cart coming up.

It must have been coming from one of the vessels, for it was full of strange-looking boxes and packages.

A fine-looking nervous horse was drawing it, and he was straining every nerve to get it up the steep hill.

His driver was a burly, hard-faced man, and instead of letting his horse stop a minute to rest he kept urging him forward.

The poor horse kept looking at his master, his eyes almost starting from his head in terror.