a relative of Mr. Bascom, who had came to McDonald to spend a few days.

The mail coach was an important institution in McDonald, and was
regarded as the great medium of communication between that place and the
great world outside. Every morning at precisely the same hour the coach
departed, and every evening with the same regard for punctuality the old
time-worn vehicle rolled up before the platform in front of the store,
to the intense delight and admiration of the assembled crowd.

For nearly forty years had this identical old coach performed this
journey, and the same old driver had drawn the reins and cracked his
whip over the flanks--I was about to say, of the same old horses. This,
however, could not have been so, although the sleepy-looking, antiquated
animals that were now attached to the lumbering old yellow coach,
looked as if they might have done duty for fully that length of time.

Two young men were already seated in the stage, and their luggage was
securely stowed away in the boot. The postmaster--the village
storekeeper filled that responsible position--was busily engaged in
making up the mail, and old Jerry, the fat good-natured old driver, was
laughing and joking with the by-standers, as he awaited the hour for
departure. As Robert stepped upon the platform he bestowed a hasty,
though searching glance at the two men in the coach, and to his relief
found that neither of them was the man he wanted, and he quietly stepped
back and watched the proceedings that were going on around him.

The postmaster appeared at last, mail-sack in hand, which he consigned
to Jerry's care, and that burly individual clambered up to his place as
gracefully as his big body and exceedingly short legs would permit.
Seating himself upon his box, he gathered up his reins and shouted a