Later Miselle took occasion to express her horror at the wholesale destruction of her beloved forests to a land-owner of the region. He laughed, and stared at the sentimental folly, and then said, conclusively,-- "Oh, but the land, you know,--we want to get at the land; and the quickest way of disposing of the trees is the best." "But even if they must be felled, it is wicked to destroy them entirely, when so many people freeze to death every winter for want of fuel." "Well, I suppose they do," said the land-owner, suppressing a yawn. "But we can't send them this wood, you know, or even get it down Oil Creek, where there is a market." "At least, the poor people about here need never be cold. I suppose fuel is very cheap through all this country, isn't it?" "Down the Creek we pay ten dollars a cord for all the wood, and a dollar a bushel for all the coal we burn, and both grow within a mile of the wells; but the trouble is the labor. Every man about here is in oil, somehow or another; and even the farmers back of the Creek prefer bringing their horses down and teaming oil to working the land or felling wood. This is emphatically the oil region." Arrived at Schaeffer's or Shaffer's Farm, the present terminus of the Oil Creek Railway, Miselle was relieved from much anxiety by seeing upon the platform Friend Williams, to whom she had, in a fit of temporary insanity, written that she should leave home on Tuesday instead of Monday. "And how shall we go down the Creek?" asked she, when the first greetings had been exchanged. "In the packet-boat, to be sure. The hack-carriage will take us right down to the wharf." Miselle opened her eyes. Here was metropolitan luxury! Here was ultra civilization in the heart of the wilderness! Oil-boats and lumber-wagons, avaunt! Those women at Corry had evidently been practising upon her ignorance, and amusing themselves with her terrors! A sudden rush of citizens toward the edge of the platform interrupted these meditations. "What is it?" asked Miselle, wildly, as her companion seized her arm, and hurried her along with the crowd. "The carriage. There is a rush for places. There! we're too late, I'm afraid." They halted, as he spoke, beside a long, heavy wagon, such as is used in the Eastern States for drawing wood, springless, with boards laid across for seats, and with no means of access save the clumsy wheels. Upon an elevated perch in front sat the driver, grinning over his shoulder at the scrambling crowd of passengers, most of whom were now loaded upon the wagon, while a circle of disappointed aspirants danced wildly around it, looking for a yet possible nook or cranny. "Can't you make room for this lady? I will walk," vociferated Mr. Williams. "Can't be did, Capting. Reckin, though, both on ye kin hitch on next load," drawled the driver, turning his horses into the slough of mud extending in every direction.