We had had a late breakfast--consequent upon a long tramp the day before--and had come out to see what sort of a day it was likely to be.

We had hardly made up our minds on the subject when the morning stage came up at full speed and stopped at our gate.
"Hello!" cried the driver.

He was not our driver.

He was a tall man in high boots, and had a great reputation as a manager of horses--so Danny Carson told me afterward.

There were two drivers on the line, and each of them made one trip a day, going up one day in the afternoon, and down the next day in the morning.
I went out to see what this driver wanted.
"Can't you give my passengers breakfast ?" he asked.
"Why, no!" I exclaimed, looking at the stage loaded inside and out.
"This isn't a tavern.