Presently Jennie observed twinkling lights before her that seemed to be on the edge of the horizon. As the train sped on toward those lights she recognized them as belonging to a station.
Then the steam horn shrieked and waked up all the passengers, and the guide shouted:
“Chuxton!”
“Here we are, my dear,” said the curate, waking up as the train stopped.
There were but few passengers who got out here, and there were all sorts of conveyances waiting for them, from donkey carts to fine coaches.
“How far are we from Haymore, papa?” inquired Jennie as her father led her from the train to the waiting-room of the station.
“Ten miles, my dear.”
“Is there a stagecoach to Haymore?”
“No, my dear, but I took the precaution to engage the fly from the Red Fox to meet us here for this train. If it has not come yet—and I do not see it—it will be here soon.”
“How much expense I put you to, dear papa!”