“A tall old man, with a smooth face and white hair, looking as proud as Julius Caesar and Roscoe Conkling on the same post-card, was there to meet her.  His clothes were frazzled, but I didn’t notice that till later.  He took her little satchel, and they started over the plank-walks and went up a road along the hill.  I kept along a piece behind ’em, trying to look like I was hunting a garnet ring in the sand that my sister had lost at a picnic the previous Saturday.

“They went in a gate on top of the hill.  It nearly took my breath away when I looked up.  Up there in the biggest grove I ever saw was a tremendous house with round white pillars about a thousand feet high, and the yard was so full of rose-bushes and box-bushes and lilacs that you couldn’t have seen the house if it hadn’t been as big as the Capitol at Washington.

“‘Here’s where I have to trail,’ says I to myself.  I thought before that she seemed to be in moderate circumstances, at least.  This must be the Governor’s mansion, or the Agricultural Building of a new World’s Fair, anyhow.  I’d better go back to the village and get posted by the postmaster, or drug the druggist for some information.

“In the village I found a pine hotel called the Bay View House.  The only excuse for the name was a bay horse grazing in the front yard.  I set my sample-case down, and tried to be ostensible.  I told the landlord I was taking orders for plate-glass.

“‘I don’t want no plates,’ says he, ’but I do need another glass molasses-pitcher.’

“By-and-by I got him down to local gossip and answering questions.

“‘Why,’ says he, ’I thought everybody knowed who lived in the big white house on the hill.  It’s Colonel Allyn, the biggest man and the finest quality in Virginia, or anywhere else.  They’re the oldest family in the State.  That was his daughter that got off the train.  She’s been up to Illinois to see her aunt, who is sick.’

“I registered at the hotel, and on the third day I caught the young lady walking in the front yard, down next to the paling fence.  I stopped and raised my hat—­there wasn’t any other way.

“‘Excuse me,’ says I, ‘can you tell me where Mr. Hinkle lives?’

“She looks at me as cool as if I was the man come to see about the weeding of the garden, but I thought I saw just a slight twinkle of fun in her eyes.

“‘No one of that name lives in Birchton,’ says she.  ‘That is,’ she goes on, ‘as far as I know.  Is the gentleman you are seeking white?’

“Well, that tickled me.  ‘No kidding,’ says I.  ’I’m not looking for smoke, even if I do come from Pittsburgh.’

“‘You are quite a distance from home,’ says she.

“‘I’d have gone a thousand miles farther,’ says I.

“‘Not if you hadn’t waked up when the train started in Shelbyville,’ says she; and then she turned almost as red as one of the roses on the bushes in the yard.  I remembered I had dropped off to sleep on a bench in the Shelbyville station, waiting to see which train she took, and only just managed to wake up in time.