"I have been over the world, almost, but never did I know such splendor was so near my office," said he, half aloud. He had discovered what some few had already known, that here at our doors, if one is not too indifferent, can be found the scenery one seeks in a month's journey.
While walking along, Moore, for he was the man, was overtaken by a milk-wagon which rattled by with its two horses; the driver, lashing his whip, seemed to mark the actual awakening to life of this rural community.
"Say, how far to the hotel and which way?" asked Moore.
"Down the road a piece. Come, get in. I'll drive ye."
Moore jumped up alongside, and was thankful for the lift.
As they sped along, he started at a sound in the distance like the faint crack of a whip, but duller.
"What was that—a shot?" he said.
"Yes; rather early, but poachers like to get on to the Mark place 'most any time. Didn't sound like much of a gun, though."
They were now at the hotel, and Moore registered in the old dilapidated book, and went to his room before his breakfast. As he lay down for a moment to rest, all of the vivid experiences of the last twenty-four hours coursed through his brain. He followed the events of the evening before, and congratulated himself on being now relieved from anxiety, for a time at least.