another farm, but I did not suggest stopping as I felt we ought to
push on. Mifflin seemed lost in meditation, and I began to wonder,
a little uneasily, how the adventure would turn out. This quaintly
masterful little man was a trifle disconcerting. Across the next
ridge I could see the Greenbriar church spire shining white.

"Do you know this part of the country?" I asked finally.

"Not this exact section. I've been in Port Vigor often, but then I
was on the road that runs along the Sound. I suppose this village
ahead is Greenbriar?"

"Yes," I said. "It's about thirteen miles from there to Port Vigor.
How do you expect to get back to Brooklyn?"

"Oh, Brooklyn?" he said vaguely. "Yes, I'd forgotten about Brooklyn
for the minute. I was thinking of my book. Why, I guess I'll take
the train from Port Vigor. The trouble is, you can never get to
Brooklyn without going through New York. It's symbolic, I suppose."

Again there was a silence. Finally he said, "Is there another town
between Greenbriar and Port Vigor?"

"Yes, Shelby," I said. "About five miles from Greenbriar."

"That'll be as far as you'll get to-night," he said. "I'll see you
safe to Shelby, and then make tracks for Port Vigor. I hope there's
a decent inn at Shelby where you can stop overnight."

I hoped so, too, but I wasn't going to let him see that with the