It was when the conductor sung out “Greenvale” that Zizi, her journey ended, alighted from the train.
She found a rickety old conveyance known as a buckboard and asked the indifferent driver thereof if she might be conveyed to any inn or hostelry that Greenvale might boast.
Still taciturn, the lanky youth that held the horse told her to “get in.”
Zizi got in, and was transported to a small inn that was not half so bad as she had feared.
She paid her charioteer, and as he set her bag down for her on the porch, she went into the first room, which seemed to be the office.
“Can I have a room for a day or two?” she asked.
“Sure,” said the affable clerk, looking at her with undisguised admiration.
Zizi smiled at him, quite completing his subjugation, for she wished to be friendly in order to get all the help she could on her mission.
She registered, and then said,
“Greenvale is a lovely place. How large is it?”