was surprised to see flowers wild in the woods at that time of
year, and much struck with the politeness of the railway train
that was willing to delay for such a reason. We got out of the
car for dinner, or for a short rest at dinner-time. My aunt
had brought her lunch in a basket. Then the forests and the
rumble of the cars began again. At one time the pine forests
were exchanged for oak, I remember; after that, nothing but
pine.

It was late in the day, when we left the cars at one of those
solitary wayside station-houses. I shall never forget the look
and feeling of the place. We had been for some miles going
through a region of swamp or swampy woods, where sometimes the
rails were laid on piles in the water. This little station-
house was in the midst of such a region. The woods were thick
and tangled with vines everywhere beyond the edge of the
clearing; the ground was wet beneath them and in places showed
standing water. There was scarcely a clearing; the forest was
all round the house; with only the two breaks in it where on
one side and on the other the iron rail track ran off into the
distance. It was a lonely place; almost nobody was there
waiting for the train; one or two forlorn coloured people and
a long lank-looking countryman, were all. Except what at first
prevented my seeing anything else — my cousin Preston. He met
me just as I was going to get down from the car; lifted me to
the platform; and then with his looks and words almost broke
up the composure which for several days had been growing upon
me. It was not hardened yet to bear attacks. I was like a poor
shell-fish, which having lost one coat of armour and defence,
craves a place of hiding and shelter for itself until its new