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 never afraid to be out alone at night, and so that didn't bother me a bit, even if the place was strange;—but then, you know, the country never is really strange,—it is home everywhere.

"The boy who carried my valise to my room at the Inn, looked strong,—everybody looks strong down there,—and so I asked him if he would go to the cigar store and get the type-writer. It was about half a mile away, I guess. He said he would; so I put the 'CARE' off of my mind, and went down to the living-room to write to Father, because I wanted the letter to go out early in the morning.

"The boy was gone a dreadfully long time, and when he did come in with the machine, he didn't look very pleased. 'Did you have any trouble with it?' I asked, anxiously.

Went after it with my bicycle!' he remarked.

Why, how in the world did you manage?' I gasped.

I'll never tell you. The thing won't ride, and it won't walk, and the bicycle either shied or kicked at it every time I got 'em within two rods of each other.'

"I followed him up stairs with it, feeling dread-