the fust turnin' to the left, marm," he said pointing. "It's
pretty nigh to East Trumet townhall. Fust house this side of the
blacksmith shop. About two mile, I'd say. Windy day for drivin', ain't
it? That horse of yours belongs in Bayport, I cal'late. Looks to me
like--Hello, Bailey!"

"Hello, Josh!" grunted Mr. Bangs, adding an explanatory aside to
the effect that he knew Josh Atwood, the latter having once lived in
Bayport.

"But say," he asked as they moved on once more, "have we got to go to
EAST Trumet? Jerushy! that's the place where the wind COMES from. They
raise it over there; anyhow, they don't raise much else. Whose house you
goin' to?"

He had asked the same question at least ten times since leaving home,
and each time Miss Dawes had evaded it. She did so now, saying that she
was sure she should know the house when they got to it.

The two miles to East Trumet were worse than the twelve which they had
come. The wind fairly shrieked here, for the road paralleled the edge of
high sand bluffs close by the shore, and the ruts and "thank-you-marms"
were trying to the temper. Bailey's was completely wrecked.

"Teacher," he snapped as they reached the crest of a long hill, and
a quick grab at his hat alone prevented its starting on a balloon
ascension, "get out a spell, will you? I've got to swear or bust, and
'long's you're aboard I can't swear. What you standin' still for,
you?" he bellowed at poor Henry, the horse, who had stopped to rest. "I
cal'late the critter thinks that last cyclone must have blowed me sky
high, and he's waitin' to see where I light. Git dap!"

"I guess I shall get out very soon now," panted Phoebe. "There's the
blacksmith shop over there near the next hill, and this house in the
hollow must be the one I'm looking for."

They pulled up beside the house in the hollow. A little,
story-and-a-half house it was, and, judging by the neglected appearance
of the weeds and bushes in the yard, it had been unoccupied for some
time. However, the blinds were now open, and a few fowls about the back
door seemed to promise that some one was living there. The wooden letter
box by the gate had a name stenciled upon it. Miss Dawes sprang from the
buggy and looked at the box.

"Yes," she said. "This is the place. Will you come in, Mr. Bangs? You
can put your horse in that barn, I'm sure, if you want to."

But Bailey declined to come in. He declared he was going on to the
blacksmith's shop to have