any conveyance between this place and Rossville?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply. "That's the regular carriage, and
here's the driver. Ajax, here's a passenger for you."

"I have a trunk on the other side," said the young man,
addressing the driver. "If you wild go round with me, we will
bring it here."

"All right, sir," said Ajax, in a businesslike way.

The trunk was brought round and placed on the rack behind the
wagon. It was a large black trunk, securely bound with brass
bands, and showed marks of service, as if it had been
considerably used. Two small strips of paper pasted on the side
bore the custom-house marks of Havre and Liverpool. On one end
was a large card, on which, written in large, bold letters, was
the name of the proprietor, Henry Morton.

In five minutes the "express" got under way. The road wound
partly through the woods. In some places the boughs, bending over
from opposite sides, nearly met. At present the branches were
nearly destitute of leaves, and the landscape looked bleak. But
in the summer nothing could be more charming.

From his seat, beside Ajax, Henry Morton regarded attentively the
prominent features of the landscape. His survey was interrupted
by a question from the driver.

"Are you calc'latin' to make a long stay in our village?"