But he did not speak.
We will now leave Albert and his fellow-travelers, and follow good
Gideon Randal.
It was quite dark when he stepped from the cars. "Can you tell me where
I can find Mr. Aaron Harrington?" he inquired of a man at the station.
"There's no such man living here, to my knowledge," was the reply.
"What, isn't this Harrowtown?" asked Mr. Randal, in great consternation.
"No, it is Whipple Village."
"Then I got out at the wrong station. What shall I do?" in a voice of
deep distress.
"Go right to the hotel and stay till the train goes in the morning,"
said the man, pleasantly.
There was no alternative. Mr. Randal passed a restless night at the
hotel, and at an early hour he was again at the station, waiting for the
train. His face was pale, and his eye wild and anxious. "The stage broke
down, and I missed the first train," thought he, "and then that boy told
me to get out here. I've made a bad beginning and I'm afraid this trip
will have a bad ending."
[Illustration: "_Allow me to assist you, sir_."]
There were many passengers walking to and fro on the platform, waiting
for the cars to come.
Among them was a plain-featured, honest-looking boy, who had been
accompanied to the station by his mother.
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