Excerpt from Chapter 1: A rickety carriage was slowly ascending the hill, and from the place of honour on the back seat, the single passenger surveyed the country with interest and admiration. The driver of that ancient chariot was an awkward young fellow, possibly twenty-five years of age, with sharp knees, large, red hands, high cheek-bones, and abundant hair of a shade verging upon orange. He was not unpleasant to look upon, however, for he had a certain evident honesty, and he was disposed to be friendly to every one. "Be you comfortable, Miss?" he asked, with apparent solicitude. "Very comfortable, thank you," was the quiet response. He urged his venerable steeds to a gait of about two miles an hour, then turned sideways. "Be you goin' to stay long, Miss?" "All Summer, I think."
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