“Is it likely?” asked John. The possibility of meeting Phil’s sister so soon had not occurred to him. For some reason which he did not try to explain it made him rather breathless for a moment. “Yes, Margey’s fond of driving,” answered his companion; “and if she can get away from the house she’ll probably come for us herself and let Bob bring a wagon for the baggage.” He began stuffing magazines and books into his bags and John followed his example. There was a long blast from the engine whistle, and the major, rising from his seat where for ten miles or so he had been in conversation with an elderly passenger, announced “Melville! Melville!” and gathered up the packages of a middle-aged lady, preparatory to helping her off the train. John was struggling into his coat when the train slowed down. Stooping, he looked out onto a straggling village street, crossed by a trickling stream, a weather-beaten platform and a station building sadly in need of a new coat of whitewash. The usual group of idlers, white and coloured, were on hand. John picked up his luggage and followed Phillip from the car, bidding good-by to the Major ceremoniously, as to a host. “I guess your sister didn’t come,” he said as he looked over the half-dozen vehicles in sight. But Phillip didn’t hear him. He was shaking hands heartily with a young, very black and smiling negro. “Bob, take Mr. North’s bag round and then get Maid from the baggage car. Did Miss Margey come?” “Yessir; she’s waitin’ roun’ back. Cardinal don’t like the cyars much, Mister Phil. You folks go ahead, sir; I’ll fetch these yere bags. Has you got trunks?” “Yes, here’s my check. Give him yours, John, will you? You brought the wagon?” “Yessir.” “All right, Bob; hurry them along. Come on, John.” They started around a corner of the station, but it was slow work, since Phillip was required to stop every step or two and shake hands. John was impressively introduced to the station agent, the foremost dry goods dealer, two farmers, and several others whose names and occupations escaped him. His size, topping Phillip by almost a head as he did, visibly aroused the interest of his new acquaintances, and a good many eyes were fixed upon him as he followed Phillip around the corner. By the rear platform stood a two-seated buckboard of light wood, in the shafts of which a large red bay tossed and turned his head restively. On the front seat, very erect, with whip and lines held firmly in gloved hands, sat a girl in brown covert coat and soft felt hat. Even as John caught his first glimpse of her she turned and saw them. A flush mounted into her cheeks as her glance passed Phillip to the tall, broad-shouldered stranger. “Hello, Phil, dear!” she called, and carefully changing whip and reins to her left hand, she stretched the other one forth over the wheel. “Steady, Cardinal; be still! Don’t you know your master, sir?”