And so it came about that certain letters were written as mentioned in a previous chapter, and in the evening of a dripping day early in November John Lenox found himself, after a nine hours' journey, the only traveler who alighted upon the platform of the Homeville station, which was near the end of a small lake and about a mile from the village.

As he stood with his bag and umbrella, at a loss what to do, he was accosted by a short and stubby individual with very black eyes and hair and a round face, which would have been smooth except that it had not been shaved for a day or two.

"Goin' t' the village ?" he said.
"Yes," said John, "that is my intention, but I don't see any way of getting there." "Carry ye over fer ten cents," said the man.

"Carryall's right back the deepo.

Got 'ny baggidge ?" "Two trunks," said John.
"That'll make it thirty cents," said the native.