"Is it there ye're afther goin'?--Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer
owld rattlethrap, and take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the
Kinzer place. Sharp, now."

"I should say it was," muttered the young lady, as the remains of what
had been a carryall were pulled up beside the platform by the skinny
skeleton of what might once have been a horse. "It's a rattletrap."

There was no choice, however; for that was the only public conveyance at
the station, and the trunk was already whisked in behind the dashboard,
and the driver was waiting for her.

He could afford to wait, as it would be some hours before another train
would be in.

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 flagman 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 greatest part
of which would have been difficult 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