but the house is open, and we
take possession of the dirty public room, and almost immediately drop to
sleep in the fluffy rocking-chairs; but even sleep is not strong enough
to conquer our desire to push on, and we soon rouse up and go in pursuit
of information.

No landlord is to be found, but there is an unkempt servant in the
kitchen, who probably does not see any use in making her toilet more
than once a week. To this fearful creature is intrusted the dainty
duty of preparing breakfast. Her indifference is equal to her lack of
information, and her ability to convey information is fettered by her
use of Gaelic as her native speech. But she directs us to the stable.
There we find a driver hitching his horses to a two-horse stage-wagon.

"Is this stage for Baddeck?"

"Not much."

"Is there any stage for Baddeck?"

"Not to-day."

"Where does this go, and when?"

"St. Peter's. Starts in fifteen minutes."

This seems like "business," and we are inclined to try it, especially as
we have no notion where St. Peter's is.

"Does any other stage go from here to-day anywhere else?"

"Yes. Port Hood. Quarter of an hour."

Everything was about to happen in fifteen minutes. We inquire further.
St. Peter's is on the east coast, on the road to Sydney. Port Hood is
on the west coast. There is a stage from Port Hood to Baddeck. It would
land us there some time Sunday morning; distance, eighty miles.

Heavens! what a pleasure-trip. To ride eighty miles more without sleep!
We should simply be delivered dead on the Bras d'Or; that is all. Tell
us, gentle driver, is there no other way?

"Well, there's Jim Hughes, come over at midnight with a passenger from
Baddeck; he's in the hotel now; perhaps he'll take you."

Our hope hung on Jim Hughes. The frowzy servant piloted us up to his
sleeping-room. "Go right in," said she; and we went in, according to the
simple custom of the country, though it was a bedroom that one would not
enter except on business. Mr. Hughes did not like to be disturbed, but
he proved himself to be a man who could wake up suddenly, shake his
head, and transact business,--a sort of Napoleon, in fact. Mr. Hughes
stared at the intruders for a moment, as if he meditated an assault.

"Do you live in Baddeck?" we asked.

"No; Hogamah,--half-way there."

"Will you take us to Baddeck to-day?"

Mr. Hughes thought. He had intended to sleep--till noon. He had then
intended to go over the Judique Mountain an