"Are you sure this is the place?"
"Yes'm, indade. Fifty cints, mum."
By the time the trunk was out and swung inside the gate, the young lady had followed; but for some reason Michael sprang back to his place and whipped up his limping steed. It may have been the fear of being asked to take that trunk into the house, for it was not a very small one. The young lady stood for a moment irresolute, and then left it where it was and walked straight up to the door.
No bell; no knocker. The workmen had not reached that part of their improvements yet. But the door was open, and a very neatly furnished parlor at the left of the hall seemed to say, "Come right in, please," and so in she went.
Such an arrival could not possibly have escaped the notice of the inmates of the house, and, as the young lady from the railway came in at the front, another and a very different looking lady marched through to the parlor from the rear.
Each one would have been a puzzle to the other, if the elder of the two had not been Mrs. Kinzer, and the widow had never been very much puzzled in all her life. At all events, she put out her hand with a cordial smile, saying:
"Miss Foster, is it not? I am Mrs. Kinzer. How could he have made such a mistake?"
"Yes, Miss Annie Foster. But do please explain. Where am I, and how do you know me?"
The widow laughed cheerily.
"How do I know you, my dear? Why, you resemble your mother almost as much as your brother Ford resembles his father. You are only one door from home here, and I'll have your trunk taken right over to the house. Please, sit down a moment. Ah! my daughter Samantha, Miss Foster. Excuse me a moment, while I call one of the men."