te Snow, I'd be some older'n I be now
and a dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper over
at the lumber consarn. He's got a cold, and Olive--that's his wife--she
said he shouldn't come out to-night. He said he should, and while they
was Katy-didin' back and forth about it, Rachel--Mrs. Ellis--she's the
hired housekeeper there--she telephoned me to harness up and come meet
you up here to the depot. Er--er--little mite late, wan't I?"

"Why, yes, just a little. The other man, the one who drives the mail
cart--I think that was what it was--said perhaps the horse was sick, or
something like that."

"No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I--er--All tucked in and warm
enough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't wonder. I
stopped at the--at the store a minute and met one or two of the fellers,
and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. G'long,
gal."

The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feet
and legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief between
his chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whatever
happened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against the
scarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station.

"Warm enough, be you?" inquired his driver cheerfully.

"Yes, thank you."

"That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes.
Well--er--Frederick, how do you think you're goin' to like South
Harniss?"

The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had not
seen very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statement
highly amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee.

"Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess you
ain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?"

"Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.--Mr.--"

"Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name's
Keeler--Laban B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station.
South Harniss is my dwellin' place--and I guess likely you'll have to
see the minister about the rest of it. He, he, he!"

His passenger, to whom the old schoolbook quatrain was entirely unknown,
wondered what on earth the man was talking about. However, he smiled
politely and sniffed with a dawning suspicion. It seemed to him there
was an unusual scent in the air, a spirituous scent, a--

"Have a peppermint lozenger," suggested Mr. Keeler, with sudden
enthusiasm.