On leaving White Haven for Wilkesbarre, they struck the first snow-storm of the season. It was not a heavy storm, and yet, as the wind blew in their faces, the drive of thirty miles proved anything but pleasant. They were glad enough when the city was reached, and they were able to put up the turn-out at a livery stable and warm up around the office stove.
“We won’t be able to travel much longer, if this keeps on,” remarked Andy. “We’ll have to pick out some place to settle down in for the winter.”
“Have you any place in view?” asked Matt, with interest.
“I’ve had my eye on Middletown, New York State. That’s a lively place, and it gets a trade from a good many miles around.”
“Do you think we can make it?”
“I think so. We can go from Scranton to Carbondale, and Honesdale, and so on through Lackawaxen and Port Jervis. By taking that route we 250 can stop on the way and still reach Middletown inside of two weeks.”
“Well, I shouldn’t like to miss a letter from Miss Bartlett, if it was sent.”
“You can leave directions to forward it if it comes after we are gone. The post-office authorities will willingly send the letter wherever you direct.”
“Perhaps she has already written.”
“If you think so, why don’t you call at the post-office and find out?”