When the train moved away the three travellers approached the man with one suspender, who filled the position of station agent, baggage-master, switchman, telegraph operator and freight clerk, and inquired if there was a conveyance to the village of Daleford. He pointed to a wagon at the farther end of the platform; that was the Daleford stage. In answer to further questions they learned that the next train back again, toward New York, left at six-thirty; that Daleford was seven miles away; that they could spend an hour in that village and catch the train without hurrying. The only baggage on the platform consisted of two peculiar-looking trunks, or rather boxes, which the multifarious official knew to be theirs, as no similar articles had ever been manufactured in America. They were covered with designs laid on in metal, all elaborately engraved, and it was not suspected along the route that these profuse and tarnished ornaments were of solid silver. This luggage was strapped behind the stage, two venerable horses were awakened and the travellers started off. Joe, the driver, a youth with large ears and a long neck, soon gave his passengers some excellent opportunities to explain themselves, which they neglected. Aside from a few simple questions about Daleford and Mr. Josiah Judd, to whose house they were going, the conversation was in a language of which he had no knowledge. The first two miles of their route lay along the Connecticut valley, after which they climbed to higher ground. The boy seemed interested in the size of the elms, the smell of the tobacco fields, the wild grapes, and the various things that any boy might notice who had never seen their like before. The day was warm, and the road dusty, and when they entered Daleford the boy, with the old gentleman’s arm about him, had been asleep for several miles. Coming into the village at one end, they drove down the main street, beneath double rows of elms that met above their heads in lofty arches, the wide common on their right. The strangers expressed their admiration at the size and beauty of these trees. Moreover the cool shade was restful and refreshing. No signs of human life were visible either in the street or about the white houses that faced the common, and this with the unbroken silence gave an impression that the inhabitants, if they existed, were either absent or asleep. The driver stopped for a moment at the post-office which occupied a corner in the only store, and gave the mail-bag to the post-mistress, a pale young woman with eye-glasses and a wealth of artificial hair; then, after rumbling through the village for half a mile, they found themselves again in the country. The last house on the right, with its massive portico of Doric columns, seemingly of white marble, had the appearance of a Grecian temple. But these appearances were deceptive, the building being a private residence and the material of native pine.