There was no door to open in that "carriage." It was all door except the
top and bottom, and the pretty passenger was neither helped nor hindered
in finding her place on the back seat.

If the flag-man was more disposed to ask questions than to answer them,
"Michael" said few words of any kind except to his horse. To him,
indeed, he kept up a constant stream of encouraging remarks, the greater
part of which would have been hard for an ordinary hearer to understand.

Very likely the horse knew what they meant, for he came very near
breaking from a limp into a trot several times, under the stimulus of
all that clucking and "g'lang now."

The distance was by no means great, and Michael seemed to know the way
perfectly. At least, he answered, "Yes'm, indade," to several inquiries
from his passenger, and she was compelled to be satisfied with that.

"What a big house it is! And painters at work on it, too!" she
exclaimed, just as Michael added a vigorous jerk of the reins to the
"Whoa!" with which he stopped his nag in front of an open gate.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

"Yes'm, indade. Fifty cints, mum."

By the time the trunk was out and swung inside the gate, the young lady
had followed; but for some reason Michael sprang back to his place and
whipped up his limping steed. It may have been the fear of being asked
to take that trunk into the house, for it was not a very small one. The
young lady stood for a moment irresolute, and then left it where it was
and walked straight up to the door.

No bell; no knocker. The workmen had not reached that part of their
improvements yet. But the door was open, and a very neatly furnished
parlor at the left of the hall seemed to say, "Come right in, please,"
and so in she went.

Such an arrival could not possibly have escaped the notice of the
inmates of the house, and, as the young lady from the railway came in at
the front, another and a very different looking lady marched through to
the parlor from the rear.

Each one would have been a puzzle to the other, if the elder of the two
had not been Mrs. Kinzer, and the widow had never been very much puzzled
in all her life. At all events, she put out her hand with a cordial
smile, saying:

"Miss Foster, is it not? I am Mrs. Kinzer. How could he have made such a
mistake?"

"Yes, Miss Annie Foster. But do please explain. Where am I, and how do
you know me?"

The widow laughed cheerily.

"How do I know you, my dear?