They were soon in Miss Hazen's stout carriage, behind a single stout horse. Sally had not noticed, before, that the water was so near. They went through some very dirty streets, past saloons and tenement-houses. Miss Hazen regarded them sadly. "One gets a poor impression of Whitby from the entrance into it," she observed. "This part of the city has changed very much since my young days; changed much for the worse. It is a great pity that the railroad does not come in at some different place. On the hill, now, one would get a very different impression. But there are parts of the city which have not changed so very much. Although," she added thoughtfully, "all the change is for the worse, it seems to me." There did not seem to be anything to be said that would be of any comfort. Fox murmured something, and then they drove up an extraordinarily steep hill. The horse had all he could do to drag them at a walk. But, looking up the hill, Sally saw a pleasant street with elms arching over it. "Oh, how lovely!" she cried. "Do you live in this part of the city, Cousin Martha?" "No," Cousin Martha replied, with rather more than a suspicion of pride in her voice. "Where we live, it is prettier than this." "Oh," said Sally. Then she recollected. "There was a very nice man on the boat," she remarked. "He was some sort of an officer, but I don't know exactly what. He said he lived in Whitby, and he had several children. The youngest girl is about my age. Do you know them, Cousin Martha? Their name is Wills." "Wills? Wills? I don't think I know any Willses." "He seemed to know who you were," Sally prompted. "He knew right away, as soon as ever I told him where I was going." "It is likely enough," said Miss Hazen, trying to speak simply. The attempt was not a conspicuous success. "Many people, whom we don't know, know who we are. The Willses are very worthy people, I have no doubt, but you are not likely to know them." "He said that, too," Sally observed. Miss Hazen looked as if she would have liked to commend Mr. Wills's discrimination; but she did not and they continued their drive in silence. The streets seemed all to be arched over with elms; all that they drove through, at all events. Presently they reached the top of the hill and turned into a street that was as crooked as it could be. It turned this way and that and went, gently, uphill and down; but, always, it seemed to be trying to keep on the top of the ridge. Sally remarked upon it. "You might call this the Ridge Road," she said; "like Ridge Road in Philadelphia. I have never been on the Ridge Road in Philadelphia," she added hastily, fearing that Cousin Martha might think she was pretending to be what she was not, "but I have always imagined that it was something like this." Fox and Miss Hazen laughed. "Not much like it, Sally," said Fox. "Or," Sally resumed, "you might call it the Cow Path. It is crooked enough to be one."