The time came, at length, for another journey.  The stage, which passed regularly through our village once a day, accommodating those who wished to go north one day, and those who wished to go south the next, picked me and my baggage up, at my father’s door.  A very young lady, an acquaintance of mine, and two stranger gentlemen, were the only passengers besides myself, until we reached the next town, five miles distant, where we stopped to change horses.  When we got into the coach again, at this place, we found a new passenger safely stowed away in one corner of the back seat.

This passenger was an old lady, of a class sometimes found in our country villages, who are aunts to everybody, and claim the greater part of the younger portion of the community as sheer boys and girls.  It seems the driver was one of her boys, and, on account of his being so nearly related, she claimed a free passage.  She was already there, and the driver had to choose between these two things—­either to admit her claim, or to turn her out.  He wisely concluded to make a virtue of necessity.  It would not answer to be rude to Aunt Polly, he thought.  Some of the other nephews and nieces might think him cruel.

But there was another question to be settled.  She had possession of the back seat.  This would hardly do on the strength of a free ticket, when it was claimed by those who had paid their passage.

“You must get up, Aunt Polly,” said the driver, “and let these ladies have the back seat.”

But Aunt Polly, alas! declared, in the most positive manner, that she could not ride on the middle seat.

“Yes you can,” said the driver, “and you must; so get up.”

But Aunt Polly was by no means easily moved.  She still, to the no small vexation of the driver, kept on saying that she could not ride on the middle seat.  In this state of things one of the gentlemen undertook the task of settling matters, and, addressing me, inquired which seat I preferred.  All the instructions which I had received at once rushed to my mind.  Now was the time to put them in practice—­to let it be known that I was not going to give up my seat to any one, certainly not to one who had no claim to it.  So drawing myself up to my full height—­which was nothing to boast of, by the way—­I answered with becoming dignity, “I prefer the back seat, sir.”

He then turned to my companion, and said, “Which seat do you prefer?”

“It makes no difference with me, sir,” was the modest reply.

A smile passed over the face of the gentleman—­a smile which evidently indicated one of two things; either that he thought my companion showed her ignorance of the world, in making herself of so little consequence, and seeming to say, “You may do what you please with me;” or he thought my reply very old for one of my years.  Which was it?  Ah, that was the question.  I could not forget that peculiar smile.  In fact, you see I have not forgotten it yet.  It seemed to mean something; but what did it mean?  Oh, how I wanted to know exactly what it meant, and how carefully I watched, to see if I could not find out.