“The drive was beautiful; Elsie looked and looked but scarcely spoke. But she did exclaim when we crossed the railroad, at the tiniest railroad station, we, or anybody else, ever saw. “It was a brown shed, without a window even—the door stood wide open, there was no one within, no stove, no seats, no ticket office. “‘Well, we are in the wilderness,’ I said aloud. “And then, the ‘store.’ I wish I could tell you about that store. It was about as large as—a hen-coop, everything, everything in it. I got out and went in, for Aunt Bessie had asked me to inquire for letters which she had directed to be sent to Sunny Plains. The post-office was a rude desk and a few cubby-holes up on the wall above it; I saw a letter laid on a meal sack—this place behind the store seemed to be both post-office and granary. “‘I’ll be down by and by—you are the new people, I suppose; I saw your things go by,’ remarked a pleasant young man behind the counter; ‘I’ll come for orders. I hope you will trade with us.’ “‘Thank you, I suppose so. And I wish you would bring some kerosene,’ I said, remembering that I must burn a lamp all night. “Along the half mile on the way to the new house were scattered several farmhouses, then came the church, and churchyard, and, on a rise beyond the churchyard, a pretty house. “‘_That’s_ it,’ Elsie said, ‘I know the house.’ “The key was in the possession of the white-haired old man with the two horses, and his house was opposite the church. “Elsie was too shy to go to the door and knock and ask for Mrs. Pettingill’s key, but I was very glad to go; I began to feel that I would like to see the girl who would stay all night with us. She answered my knock, a tall girl, with an encouraging face. She brought the key, saying the wagons were all unloaded; two had come Saturday with things; her father had said my mother and all the family were coming before night. “‘Aunt Bessie was too ill,’ I replied, glad to have the neighborly subject opened so easily, ‘and she said I might ask you to come over and stay all night with Elsie and me.’ “‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she answered, hastily; ‘I’m going away—I’m all dressed now. I’m sorry, too,’ she added, sympathetically, at something in my face, ‘but I can’t disappoint my grandmother; she sent for me because she is sick.’ ‘Then, of course, you will have to go. (Then I began to know what ‘brave’ meant.) Thank you for the key.’ “Up the steep, weed-tangled drive we went to the side door; the boy-driver unlocked the door for us, giving a view of the moving times within. I paid him his dollar, and he drove away, leaving us in the wilderness. “Elsie stood and looked around as usual.