Pausing occasionally to rest, Herbert at length accomplished his journey, arriving at Randolph a little after noon. He stopped just outside the village and ate his frugal dinner, which by this time he was prepared to relish. He then took off his jacket and beat the dust out of it, dusted his shoes, and washed his face in a little brook by the roadside. Having thus effaced the marks of travel, he entered the village and inquired the way to the residence of his late uncle. He found out where it was, but did not go there yet, knowing that there would be preparations going on for the funeral. Neither did he go to the tavern, for he knew that he would be expected to dine there, and this was an expense which he did not feel able to incur. He threw himself down in the shade of a tree, and remained there until after he heard the church clock strike two. He was still lying there when a young man, smartly dressed, sporting a showy watch chain and locket and an immense necktie, came up the street and accosted him.
“I say, boy, can you tell me where old man Carter's house is?”
“Yes,” said Herbert. “Do you want to go there?”
“Of course I do. I'm one of the relatives. I've come all the way from New York to attend the funeral.”
“I'm one of the relations, too,” said Herbert. “We'll go along together.”
“By Jove, that's strange! How are you related to the old chap?” drawled the young man.
“He was my mother's uncle.”
“Was he? Well, I'm a second or third cousin, I don't know which. Never saw him to my knowledge. In fact, I wouldn't have come on to the funeral if I hadn't heard that he was rich. Expect to be remembered?”
“I don't think so. He hasn't taken any notice of mother or myself for years.”
“Indeed!” said the young man, who was rather pleased to hear this intelligence. “Are there many relations, do you know?”