There was a neatly-dressed young woman, with a little flower-pot in
her hand, standing near him, waiting for her turn. There was a small
orange-tree in her flower-pot. It was about six inches high. The sight
of this orange-tree interested Marco very much, for it reminded him
of home. He had often seen orange-trees growing in the parlors and
green-houses in New York.
"What a pretty little orange-tree!" said Marco. "Where did you get
it?"
"How did you know it was an orange-tree?" said the girl.
"O, I know an orange-tree well enough," replied Marco. "I have seen
them many a time."
"Where?" asked, the girl.
"In New York," said Marco. "Did your orange-tree come from New York?"
"No," said the girl. "I planted an orange-seed, and it grew from
that. I've got a lemon-tree, too," she added, "but it is a great deal
larger. The lemon-tree grows faster than the orange. My lemon-tree is
so large that I couldn't bring it home very well, so I left it in the
mill."
"In the mill?" said Marco. "Are you a miller?"
The girl laughed. She was a very good-humored girl, and did not appear
to be displeased, though it certainly was not quite proper for Marco
to speak in that manner to a stranger. She did not, however, reply to
his question, but said, after a pause,
"Do you know where the Montpelier stage is?"
The proper English meaning of the word _stage_ is a _portion of
the road_, traveled between one resting-place and another. But in
the United States it is used to mean the carriage, - being a sort of
contraction for _stage-coach_.
"No," said Marco, "_we_ are going in that stage."
"I wish it would come along," said the girl, "for I'm tired of
watching my trunk."
"Where is your trunk?" said Marco.
So the girl pointed out her trunk. It was upon the platform of the
piazza, near those belonging to Forester and Marco. The girl showed
Marco her name, which was Mary Williams, written on a card upon the
end of it.
"I'll watch your trunk," said Marco, "and you can go in and sit down
until the stage comes."
Mary thanked him and went in. She was not, however, quite sure that
her baggage was safe, intrusted thus to the charge of a strange boy,
and so she took a seat near the window, where she could keep an eye
upon it. There was a blue chest near these trunks, which looked like a
sailor's chest, and Marco, being tired of standing, sat down upon this
chest. He had, however, scarcely taken his seat, when he saw a coach
with four horses, coming round a corner. It was driven by a small boy
not larger than Marco. It wheeled up toward the door, and came to a
stand. Some men then put on the sailor's chest and the trunks. Mary
Williams came out and got into the coach. She sat on the back seat.
Forester and Marco got in, and took their places on the middle seat. A
young man, dressed like a sailor, took the front seat, at one corner
of the coach. These were all the passengers that were to get in here.
When every thing was ready, they drove away.
The stage stopped, however, in a few minutes at the door of a handsome
house in the town, and took a gentleman and lady in. These new
passengers took places on the back seat, with Mary Williams.
This company rode in perfect silence for some time. Forester took
out a book and began to read. The gentleman on the back seat went to
sleep. Mary Williams and Marco looked out at the windows, watching the
changing scenery. The sailor rode in silence; moving his lips now and
then, as if he were talking to himself, but taking no notice of any
of the company. The coach stopped at the villages which they
passed through, to exchange the mail, and sometimes to take in new
passengers. In the course of these changes Marco got his place shifted
to the forward seat by the side of the sailor, and he gradually got
into conversation with him. Marco introduced the conversation, by
asking the sailor if he knew how far it was to Montpelier.
"No," said the sailor, "I don't keep any reckoning, but I wish we were
there."
"Why?" asked Marco.
"O, I expect the old cart will capsize somewhere among these
mountains, and break our necks for us."
Marco had observed, all the morning, that when the coach canted to
one side or the other, on account of the unevenness of the road, the
sailor always started and looked anxious, as if afraid it was going to
be upset. He wondered that a man who had been apparently accustomed
to the terrible dangers of the seas, should be alarmed at the gentle
oscillations of a stage-coach.
"Are you afraid that we shall upset?" asked Marco.
"Yes," said the sailor, "over some of these precipices and mountains;
and then there'll be an end of us."
The sailor said this in an easy and careless manner, as if, after all,
he was not much concerned about the danger. Still, Marco was surprised
that he should fear it at all. He was not aware how much the fears
which people feel, are occasioned by the mere novelty of the danger
which they incur. A stage-driver, who is calm and composed on his box,
in a dark night, and upon dangerous roads, will be alarmed by the
careening of a ship under a gentle breeze at sea, - while the sailor
who laughs at a gale of wind on the ocean, is afraid to ride in a
carriage on land.
"An't you a sailor?" asked Marco.
![Marco Paul's Voyages & Travels: Vermont By Jacob Abbott
- Then he went down to the piazza again.
[Illustration: THE GREAT ELM]
There was a neatly-dressed young woman, with - Page 2](../images/travel.jpg)
