“O, dear, I hope they won’t forget to stop,” said the woman, with increasing nervousness. “Hadn’t you better speak to the conductor again? I don’t know what we’d do if we were carried past our station.”
“I know,” answered the boy, with a laugh. “If they forgot us, they’d have to bring us back for nothing. But the conductor won’t forget. I’ve pestered him so often about it that I guess he’ll be glad to get rid of us.”
“I never thought about it being dark when we got there,” the woman went on, as the lights in the car turned the outside world into blackness. “I suppose we’d better not try to open up your uncle’s house to-night.” She looked out into the deep shadows of the palmettos. “We’ll go to a hotel or boarding house to-night.”
“What’s the use?” argued the boy. “That is, unless you are too tired. It’ll be a useless expense. I’d like to find the house to-night, if we can. Someone can show us. Every one in the town’ll know where Uncle Abner lived.”
“We must go to Captain Anderson first,” replied the woman at once. “He is the one who wrote to us of your uncle’s death, and sent the body to us for burial. He has the key to the house, and he was your uncle’s friend.”
“Maybe their homes were near together,” suggested the boy hopefully. “I guess it isn’t a very big town, and it won’t be very late. We can go to a restaurant and get our supper and then find Captain Anderson. He can take us right to the house to-night. It’ll be kind o’ like campin’ out—”
“Camping out?” interrupted the woman. “I hope not, although,” and she smiled faintly, “that would just suit you.”
The boy only laughed and again tried to make out the landscape.
“Well,” he said at last, “even if it’s on the main street of Valkaria, it won’t be far to the river, and that’ll be something.”