Miselle opened her eyes. Here was metropolitan luxury! Here was ultra civilization in the heart of the wilderness! Oil-boats and lumber-wagons, avaunt! Those women at Corry had evidently been practising upon her ignorance, and amusing themselves with her terrors!
A sudden rush of citizens toward the edge of the platform interrupted these meditations.
"What is it?" asked Miselle, wildly, as her companion seized her arm, and hurried her along with the crowd.
"The carriage. There is a rush for places. There! we're too late, I'm afraid."
They halted, as he spoke, beside a long, heavy wagon, such as is used in the Eastern States for drawing wood, springless, with boards laid across for seats, and with no means of access save the clumsy wheels. Upon an elevated perch in front sat the driver, grinning over his shoulder at the scrambling crowd of passengers, most of whom were now loaded upon the wagon, while a circle of disappointed aspirants danced wildly around it, looking for a yet possible nook or cranny.
"Can't you make room for this lady? I will walk," vociferated Mr. Williams.
"Can't be did, Capting. Reckin, though, both on ye kin hitch on next load," drawled the driver, turning his horses into the slough of mud extending in every direction.
"I will walk with you. How far is it?" asked Miselle, after a brief contemplation of the prospect.
"Not so very far; but the mud is about two feet deep all the way, and you might soil your feet," suggested Mr. Williams, with a quizzical smile.
The objection was unanswerable; and Miselle, folding herself in the mantle of resignation, waited until the next troubling of the pool, when, rushing with the rest, she was safely hoisted into the cart, and the drive commenced.