One is not missed in a big town. His going and his coming are not watched. There is no time to bother with another's affairs. Everyone has enough to do to look after his own. The curiosity about one's neighbors--what he wears, what he eats, what he does, every item in his daily life--that is developed by idleness, thrives in littleness, and grows to perfection in scandal and innuendo--belongs solely to the small town. If one comes down street with a grip--instantly: So and so is "going away"--speculation as to why?--where?--what? One puts on a new suit, it is observed and noted.--A pair of new shoes, ditto.--A new necktie, ditto. Every particular of his life is public property, is inspected for a motive, and, if a motive cannot be discovered, one is supplied--usually mean and little, the latter unctuously preferred. All this Croyden was yet to learn, however. He took the night's express on the N. Y., P. & N., whence, at Hampton Junction, he transferred to a branch line. For twenty miles the train seemed to crawl along, burrowing into the sand hills and out again into sand, and in and out again, until, at length, with much whistling and escaping steam, they wheezed into the station and stopped. There were a dozen white men, with slouch hats and nondescript clothing, standing aimlessly around, a few score of negroes, and a couple of antique carriages with horses to match. The white men looked at the new arrival, listlessly, and the negroes with no interest at all--save the two who were porters for the rival hotels. They both made for Croyden and endeavored to take his grip. He waved them away. "I don't want your hotel, boys," he said. "But if you can tell me where Clarendon is, I will be obliged." "Cla'endon! seh? yass, seh," said one, "right out at de een' o' de village, seh--dis street tek's yo dyar, seh, sho nuf." "Which end of the village?" Croyden asked. "Dis een', seh, de fust house beyon' Majah Bo'den's, seh." "How many blocks is it?" "Blocks, seh!" said the negro. "'Tain't no blocks--it's jest de fust place beyon' Majah Bo'den's." Croyden laughed. "Here," he said, "you take my bag out to Clarendon--I'll walk till I find it." "Yass, seh! yass, seh! I'll do it, seh! but yo bettah ride, seh!" "No!" said Croyden, looking at the vehicle. "It's safer to walk." He tossed the negro a quarter and turned away. "Thankee, seh, thankee, seh, I'll brings it right out, seh." Croyden went slowly down the street, while the crowd stared after him, and the shops emptied their loafers to join them in the staring. He was a strange man--and a well-dressed man--and they all were curious. Presently, the shops were replaced by dwellings of the humbler sort, then they, in turn, by more pretentious residences--with here and there a new one of the Queen Anne type. Croyden did not need the information, later vouchsafed, that they belong to _new_ people. It was as unmistakable as the houses themselves.