There is but one passenger to-night: a man above the medium height and weight, dressed like a city tradesman, who seems to own the packages put off, for he is standing among them, and apparently wondering what disposition he is to make of them; for the agent is about to retire into the station with his books under his arm. Evidently the stranger is not good natured, for he hails the official impatiently, and inquires, in a voice that is a mixture of indignation and impudence, if the hotels have no representatives about, and if he is expected to remain out in the rain all night to guard his property. The agent does not know as to that, but he does know that the stranger is welcome to leave his packages in the building until morning, which arrangement seems to be the best offering, for it is accepted, after both men have denounced the town until they are satisfied; for no one pretends to defend Davy's Bend, so the agent readily assents to whatever the stranger desires to say that is discreditable to his native place, while he is helping him to carry the trunks and bundles into the light. When the rays of the single lamp in the station fall upon the stranger, the agent at first concludes that he is middle-aged, for a new growth of whiskers covers his face completely; but he thinks better of this during the course of his inspection, and remarks to himself that the owner of the packages is not as old as he seemed at first glance, but he is a man not satisfied with himself, or with anything around him,--the agent is sure of that; and as he helps with the baggage, of which there is a great deal, he keeps thinking to himself that it will stand him in hand to be more polite than usual, for the stranger looks sullen enough to fight with very little provocation. His quick, restless eyes were always busy,--the agent feels certain that he has been measured and disposed of in a glance,--but the longer he looks at the stranger the more certain he becomes that the packages he is helping to handle contains goods of importance, for their owner is evidently a man of importance. "There must be gold in that," the agent says, as he puts his end of one of the trunks down, and pauses to rest. "I have been agent here a good many years; but if that is not an excess, I never had hold of one. Now for the rest of them." The work is soon finished, and after extinguishing the light the agent steps upon the outside, locks the door, and puts the key into his pocket.