Pausing occasionally to rest, Herbert at length accomplished his
journey, arriving at Randolph a little after noon. He stopped just
outside the village and ate his frugal dinner, which by this time he
was prepared to relish. He then took off his jacket and beat the dust
out of it, dusted his shoes, and washed his face in a little brook by
the roadside. Having thus effaced the marks of travel, he entered the
village and inquired the way to the residence of his late uncle. He
found out where it was, but did not go there yet, knowing that there
would be preparations going on for the funeral. Neither did he go to
the tavern, for he knew that he would be expected to dine there, and
this was an expense which he did not feel able to incur. He threw
himself down in the shade of a tree, and remained there until after he
heard the church clock strike two. He was still lying there when a
young man, smartly dressed, sporting a showy watch chain and locket
and an immense necktie, came up the street and accosted him.

"I say, boy, can you tell me where old man Carter's house is?"

"Yes," said Herbert. "Do you want to go there?"

"Of course I do. I'm one of the relatives. I've come all the way from
New York to attend the funeral."

"I'm one of the relations, too," said Herbert. "We'll go along
together."

"By Jove, that's strange! How are you related to the old chap?"
drawled the young man.

"He was my mother's uncle."