candle covering its candlestick with a tallow glacier. It made only a
hole of shine in the general duskiness of the big dining-room. The
landlady bade them a pathetic good-by. She was sure there were
dangers ahead of them. The night stage had got in three hours late,
owing to a breakdown, and one calamity she said, is only the
forerunner of another.

Zene had driven ahead with the load. It was a foggy morning, and
drops of moisture hung to the carriage curtains. There was the
morning star yet trembling over the town. Aunt Corinne hugged her
wrap, and Bobaday stuck his hands deep in his pockets. But Grandma
sat erect and drove away undaunted and undamped. She merely searched
the inside of the carriage with her glasses, inquiring as a last
precaution:

"Have we left anything behind?"

"I got all my things," said Robert. "And my gold dollar's in my
pocket."

At this aunt Corinne arose and plunged into the carriage pocket on
her side.




CHAPTER IV.

THE SUSAN HOUSE.