He didn't look the millionaire, or nabob, or anything else but a modest
little man full of joy at getting into the country. His clothing was not
distinctive of wealth, his hands were hard and roughened by years of
toil, and his necktie had a plebeian trick of sliding under his left
ear. Uncle John was just a plain, simple, good-hearted fellow before he
acquired riches, and the possession of millions had in no way altered
his nature.

The three nieces and himself were the only passengers in the coach,
aside from rosy-cheeked Mary, Patricia's cook. Finding that the road did
not run a sleeper to Chazy Junction, Mr. Merrick had ordered one
attached to the train for his especial use; but he did not allow even
Patsy to suspect this extravagance.

"It seems to me," observed Beth, as she peered out while the train
puffed up the steep grade, "as if we'd arrived at the heart of a
wilderness, where farms are likely to be as scarce as Egyptian temples."

"The truth is," replied her uncle, with a cheerful smile, "that none of
us has an idea where we're going, or what that farm of mine looks like.
We're explorers, like Stanley in mid-Africa. That's the beauty of this
excursion."

"I'm glad I didn't bring any party dresses," said dainty Louise, shaking
her blonde head with a doubting expression toward the rock
covered hills.

"Why, you might need them for hay-rides," remarked Patsy, with a laugh;
"that is, if any hay grows in this land of quarries."