Publisher's Synopsis
A rickety carriage was slowly ascending the hill, and from the place of honour on theback seat, the single passenger surveyed the country with interest and admiration. Thedriver of that ancient chariot was an awkward young fellow, possibly twenty-five years ofage, with sharp knees, large, red hands, high cheek-bones, and abundant hair of a shadeverging upon orange. He was not unpleasant to look upon, however, for he had a certainevident honesty, and he was disposed to be friendly to every one."Be you comfortable, Miss?" he asked, with apparent solicitude."Very comfortable, thank you," was the quiet response. He urged his venerable steeds toa gait of about two miles an hour, then turned sideways."Be you goin' to stay long, Miss?""All Summer, I think.""Do tell!"The young woman smiled in listless amusement, but Joe took it for conversationalencouragement. "City folks is dretful bashful when they's away from home," he said tohimself. He clucked again to his unheeding horses, shifted his quid, and was casting aboutfor a new topic when a light broke in upon him."I guess, now, that you're Miss Hathaway's niece, what's come to stay in her house whileshe goes gallivantin' and travellin' in furrin parts, be n't you?""I am Miss Hathaway's niece, and I have never been here before. Where does she live?""Up yander."He flourished the discarded fish-pole which served as a whip, and pointed out a smallwhite house on the brow of the hill. Reflection brought him the conviction that his remarkconcerning Miss Hathaway was a social mistake, since his passenger sat very straight, andasked no more questions.The weary wheels creaked, but the collapse which Miss Thorne momentarily expectedwas mercifully postponed. Being gifted with imagination, she experienced the emotion of awreck without bodily harm. As in a photograph, she beheld herself suddenly projected intospace, followed by her suit case, felt her new hat wrenched from her head, and sawhopeless gravel stains upon the tailored gown which was the pride of her heart. Shethought a sprained ankle would be the inevitable outcome of the fall, but was spared thepain of it, for the inability to realise an actual hurt is the redeeming feature of imagination.Suddenly there was a snort of terror from one of the horses, and the carriage stoppedabruptly. Ruth clutched her suit case and umbrella, instantly prepared for the worst; butJoe reassured her.
