Peter Schmidt was at the train to meet Frederick, who was the only passenger getting off at Meriden.  The little station was empty, but near by was the hurry-scurry of the main street of this country town of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants.

“Now,” said Schmidt, “all’s well.  No more New York dissipation.  We’ll sound different chords here in Meriden.  My wife sends her regards.  She could not come to meet you because she had to look after some patients.  If you like, we might lunch together and afterwards drive out in a sleigh to take a look at the little house I found for you in the country.  If it suits you, you can rent it at a very low figure.  In the meantime you can take a room at our hotel here, which the whole city is proud of.”

“Oh,” said Frederick, “I have a wild longing for solitude.  I should prefer to spend the very first night beneath my own roof far, far from the madding crowd of Meriden.”

“Very well,” responded Schmidt, “the man that owns the house is a good friend of mine, a druggist.  His name is Lamping, a pleasant Dutchman.  He’ll be satisfied with any arrangements we make; and if you decide to take the house, everything can be settled with him in fifteen minutes.”

The two men went to the hotel, where they were served with a rather tasteless meal in surroundings comfortable and luxurious far beyond European notions.  Schmidt left Frederick alone for a while and in a few moments sent a bell-boy to announce that the sleigh was waiting outside.  To Frederick’s astonishment he found his friend sitting alone in a pretty, two-seated sleigh reining in a fiery chestnut.

“I congratulate you on this tidy little conveyance,” he said.

Peter laughed and quickly dispelled Frederick’s illusion, that the immaculate little vehicle with the horse and harnessings were his own.  He had merely hired it without a driver, a frequent practice in America.

“In fact,” he joked, “I shall be quite content if we get there without being pitched out into the snow.  I confess, I have never in my life driven a horse.”

“Ah,” said Frederick with chuckling satisfaction, “it is not for nothing that my father is a general.  Let me drive.”

Frederick’s luggage was placed in the sleigh, he jumped in, caught up the reins, the chestnut reared, and off they dashed, with a deafening jingle of the sleigh-bells.  Their way lay along the main street, a broad, bustling thoroughfare.

“Is this the sort of horse they usually have here?” asked Frederick.  “The beast is positively running away.  If we come out of this crowded street without broken limbs, it will be God’s doing, not mine.”

“Let him have his way.  Every day there are one or more runaways here.  What’s the difference if it’s our turn to-day?”