He answered the question promptly. “Guess I be, guess I be,” he said briskly. “Anyhow, I'm lookin' for a boy name of--name of--My soul to heavens, I've forgot it again, I do believe! What did you say your name was?” “Speranza. Albert Speranza.” “Sartin, sartin! Sper--er--um--yes, yes. Knew it just as well as I did my own. Well, well, well! Ye-es, yes, yes. Get right aboard, Alfred. Let me take your satchel.” He picked up the suitcase. The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, still hesitated. “Then you're--you're not my grandfather?” he faltered. “Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!” He chuckled shrilly. “No, no! No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lote Snow, I'd be some older'n I be now and a dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper over at the lumber consarn. He's got a cold, and Olive--that's his wife--she said he shouldn't come out to-night. He said he should, and while they was Katy-didin' back and forth about it, Rachel--Mrs. Ellis--she's the hired housekeeper there--she telephoned me to harness up and come meet you up here to the depot. Er--er--little mite late, wan't I?” “Why, yes, just a little. The other man, the one who drives the mail cart--I think that was what it was--said perhaps the horse was sick, or something like that.” “No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I--er--All tucked in and warm enough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't wonder. I stopped at the--at the store a minute and met one or two of the fellers, and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. G'long, gal.” The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feet and legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief between his chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whatever happened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against the scarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station. “Warm enough, be you?” inquired his driver cheerfully. “Yes, thank you.” “That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes. Well--er--Frederick, how do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss?” The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had not seen very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statement highly amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee. “Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess you ain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?” “Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.--Mr.--” “Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name's Keeler--Laban B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station. South Harniss is my dwellin' place--and I guess likely you'll have to see the minister about the rest of it. He, he, he!”