At the very moment when the angry crab closed his nippers on the bare big toe of Dick Lee, and his shrill note of discomfort rang across the inlet, the shrill whistle of the engine announced the arrival of the morning train at the little station in the village.
A minute or so later, a very pretty young lady was standing beside a trunk on the platform, trying to get some information of the flag-man.
"Can you tell me where Mr. Foster lives?"
"That's the gimlet-eyed laryer from Yark?"
"Yes, he's from New York," said the young lady, smiling in his face. "Where does he live?"
"He's got the sapiest boy, thin. Is it him as took the Kinzer house?"
"I think likely it is. Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Thim Kinzers is foine people. The widdy married one of the gurrels to Misther Morris."
"But how can I get to the house?"
"Is it there ye're afther goin'? Hey, Michael, me boy, bring up yer owld rattlethrap an' take the leddy's thrunk. She'll be goin' to the Kinzer place. Sharp, now!"