Aunt Corinne and her nephew were glad when Zene drove upon the
'pike, and the carriage followed. The 'pike had a solid rumbling base
to offer wheels. You were comparatively in town while driving there,
for every little while you met somebody, and that body always
appeared to feel more important for driving on the 'pike. It was a
glittering white highway the ruts worn by wheels were literally worn
in stone. Yet never were roadsides as green as the sloping 'pike
sides. No trees encroached very close upon it, and it stretched in
endless glare. But how smoothly you bowled along! People living aside
in fields, could hear your progress; the bass roar of the 'pike was
as distinct, though of course not as loud, as the rumble of a train.

Going through Reynoldsburg however, was the great triumphal act of
leave-taking. The Padgetts went to church in Reynoldsburg. To-day it
is a decayed village, with many of its houses leaning wearily to one
side, or forward as if sinking to a nap. But then it was a lively
coach town, the first station out from the capital of the State.

[Illustration: THE STAGE SWEPT BY LIKE A FLASH.]

The Reynoldsburgers looked forth indifferently. They saw movers
every hour of the day. But with recognition growing in their faces,
many of them hastened to this particular carriage for parting words
with grandma Padgett and the children. Robert Day set up against the
high back, accepting his tribute of envious glances from the boys he
knew. He was going off to meet adventures. They--had to stay at home
and saw wood, and some of them would even be obliged to split it when
they had a tin box full of bait and their fish-poles all ready for
the afternoon's useful employment. There had been a time when Robert