At quarter past ten he drove out of the old road where the Crane house stood and down the village street.

The man's name was Jonathan Leavitt.

He was quite old but hearty, with a stubbly fringe of white beard around a ruddy face.
He had come on a wood-sled for the greater convenience of bringing Sylvia's goods.

There were a feather-bed, bolster, and pillows, tied up in an old homespun blanket, on the rear of the sled; there was also a red chest, and a great bundle of bedclothing.

Sylvia sat in her best rocking-chair just behind Jonathan Leavitt, who drove standing.
"It's a pleasant day for this time of year," he observed to Sylvia when they started.