The Light in the Window

A rickety carriage was slowly ascending the hill, and from the place of
honour on the back seat, the single passenger surveyed the country
with interest and admiration. The driver of that ancient chariot was
an awkward young fellow, possibly twenty-five years of age, with sharp
knees, large, red hands, high cheek-bones, and abundant hair of a shade
verging upon orange. He was not unpleasant to look upon, however, for
he had a certain evident honesty, and he was disposed to be friendly to
every one.

"Be you comfortable, Miss?" he asked, with apparent solicitude.

"Very comfortable, thank you," was the quiet response. He urged his
venerable steeds to a gait of about two miles an hour, then turned
sideways.

"Be you goin' to stay long, Miss?"

"All Summer, I think."

"Do tell!"

The young woman smiled in listless amusement, but Joe took it for
conversational encouragement. "City folks is dretful bashful when they's
away from home," he said to himself. He clucked again to his unheeding
horses, shifted his quid, and was casting about for a new topic when a
light broke in upon him.

"I guess, now, that you're Miss Hathaway's niece, what's come to stay in
her house while she goes gallivantin' and travellin' in furrin parts, be
n't you?"

"I am Miss Hathaway's niece, and I have never been here before. Where
does she live?"