It was only ten now.... Mud and miles and mail-boxes; dragging moments, and miles and cold rain.... She had to talk a little. The journey of the night was nearest, and she told how good the train-men had been to her.
“You haven’t traveled much, Miss, I take it?” he said softly.
“Oh, no.” Then distantly again she remembered a Betty Berry of concert seasons—on the wing from city to city. It was all too remote for speech. At one house a woman came forth with tea and sandwiches. Betty was grateful for the warm drink and wanted to pay, but the carrier pushed back her hand and tucked her in again.
“Guess this is going to be a surprise for the bare-headed man?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s your young man, then?”
“Yes.”
He seemed relieved. “He won’t be staying out here much longer—not likely—though we do have a spell of good weather in November mostly.”
Often she lost every sense of distance and identity. The lapses grew longer toward the end, and when she did not answer, Jethro thought she had fallen asleep.... A long stretch at last, barren of mail-boxes.... When he finally drew up, she followed his eyes to her lover’s name upon the tin by the roadside. Then he pointed beyond the low near trees and hollows. It was all desolate; the Fall tints subdued in the pervading gray. She saw a clump of greater trees in the upper middle distance.
“’Bout a thousand feet straight in. Miss—and up—under them big trees. You’ll see his shanty before you’re half-way. Just keep your eye on them elms. He’d be down here if it was any kind of weather. Guess you’re glad. D’ruther go alone and find him there, wouldn’t you?”