McCausland smiled incredulously.
"Is Woodlawn the only station between here and Albany?" he asked. "However, I telegraphed along the route to have the runaway stopped."
"What time did you send the telegram?" asked Shagarach.
"At 1:19 by the station clock."
"Just a minute too late. The express reaches Woodlawn at 1:18. It is the first station."
"Heigho! Here's a to-do. What about Woodlawn?" asked a cheerful voice. It was Dr. Jonas Silsby, brown as a berry, with a broad-brimmed straw hat and a basketful of botanical specimens under one arm. The casual observer would have taken him for an uncommonly good-looking farmer, bringing some choice greens to market.
CHAPTER XLI.
A HUT IN THE FOREST.
"Who's talking of Woodlawn? Just where I came from, and if the fronds of those ferns aren't as fine-cut as petals, then I don't know an oak from a gooseberry bush."