“I’ve mistrusted all along that he was gettin’ lightheaded.”
But Oliver’s mind was never clearer in his life, and he hastened on, reaching the depot just in time for the downward train, which carried him in safety to Springfield, and when next morning Geraldine before her glass was brushing her jet-black hair, and thinking within herself how nicely her plans were working, he was on his way to Mildred.
He did not reach the terminus of his railroad route until the Dresden stage had been gone several hours, and to his inquiries for some other mode of conveyance, he invariably received the same answer:
“Every hoss and every wagon has gone to the big camp-meetin’ up in the north woods.”
“How far is it to Dresden?” he asked.
“A little short of ten mile,” returned the ticket agent. “You can walk it easy; though I don’t know ’bout that,” and he glanced at Oliver’s crippled feet. “Mebby you’ll get a ride. There’s allus somebody goin’ that way.”
Oliver felt sure he should, and though the June sun was pouring down a scorching heat, and the road to Dresden, as far as his eye could trace it, wound over hill after hill where no shade-trees were growing, he resolved to go, and quenching his thirst from the tempting-looking gourd hanging near a pail of delicious ice-water, he started on his way.
CHAPTER XX.
OLIVER AND MILDRED.
Oh, what a weary, weary road it was, winding up and up, and up, and seeming to the tired and heated Oliver as if it could never end, or Dresden be much nearer. Walking was always to him a slow process, and nothing but the thought of what lay beyond could have kept him up and moving on until his poor crippled feet were blistered and his head was throbbing with pain. Not once during that tedious journey did a single person pass him; all were going the other way, and the heroic Oliver was almost fainting from exhaustion when, from the brow of a steep hill, he saw the Dresden spire flashing in the sunlight, and knew he was almost there.