The day dawned bright and sunshiny, but the sky had become overcast, and Bill Lenman, who had driven the stage for twenty-odd years, declared that a storm was brewing, and was sure to overtake him before he could reach the little country town of Piketon, which was the terminus of his journey.
A railway line had been opened from this bright, wide-awake place, and, though the only public means of conveyance between Piketon and Belmar was the stage, its days were almost numbered, for the line was branching and spreading in nearly every direction.
Bill had picked up and set down passengers, on the long run, until now, as the day was closing, he had but a single companion, who sat on the seat directly behind him, and kept up a continuous run of questions and answers.
This gentleman's appearance suggested one of the most verdant of countrymen that ever passed beyond sight of his parent's home. He was fully six feet tall, with bright, twinkling-gray eyes, a long peaked nose, home-made clothing, and an honest, out-spoken manner which could not fail to command confidence anywhere.
He had made known his name to every person that had ridden five minutes in the coach, as Ethan Durrell, born in New England, and on a tour of pleasure. He had never before been far from the old homestead, but had worked hard all his life, and had some money saved up, and his parents consented to let him enjoy his vacation in his own way.
"You see, I could have got to Piketon by the railroad," he said, leaning forward over the back of Lenman's seat and peering good-naturedly into his face, "but consarn the railroads! I don't think they ever oughter been allowed. I read in the _Weekly Bugle_, just afore I left home, that somewhere out West a cow got on the track and wouldn't get off! No, sir, _wouldn't get off_, till the engine run into her and throwed her off the track, and likewise throwed itself off, and some of the folks on board come mighty nigh getting hurt."
The driver was naturally prejudiced against railways, and was glad to agree with Ethan's sentiments.
"Yas," he said, as he nipped a fly off the ear of the near horse, by a swing of his long lash, "there ought to be a law agin them railroads; what's the use of folks being in such a hurry, that they want to ride a mile a minute! What good does it do 'em? Why aint they content to set in a coach like this and admire the country as they ride through it?"