'The wagon,' said Miss Hazel, seating herself by the table.
'More particularly, your one trunk and my six, sir.'

'Where has it gone?'

'Up the mountain, sir. They were afraid of making the stage
top heavy--the weight of intellect inside being small.'

'Do you mean, to Catskill?'

'Yes, sir. Poor little puss!--Does the vegetation hereabouts
support nothing but pigs?' said Miss Hazel, with a despairing
glance from the dish of ham to a yellow haired lassie in a
blue gown, who just then brought in a pitcher of water. Mr.
Falkirk waited till the damsel had withdrawn, and went to the
window and came back again before he spoke.

'You should have consulted me, Miss Hazel. You are bewildered.
It is not a good time to go up the mountain now.'

'Bewildered? I!' was Miss Hazel's only answer.

'Yes, you don't know what is good for you. I shall send for
those trunks, Wych.'

'Quite useless, sir. There is nothing else going up to the
Mountain House till we go ourselves. We will go for them--there
is nothing like doing your own business.'