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and thus it was often dusk； and sometimes late in the evening；
when the lumbering vehicle neared its final destination
and drew up to the little post…offices along the way。
However late it might be； the village postmaster had to be on hand
to receive and open the mailbags； after which he distributed
the newspapers and letters in a primitive set of pine
pigeon…holes on the wall； turned out the loafers； 〃banked up〃
the fire； and went home to bed。
〃Life〃 Lane was a jolly good fellow；just the man to sit on the box
seat and drive the three horses through ruts and 〃thank…you…ma'ams；〃
slush and mud and snow。 There was a perennial twinkle in his eye；
his ruddy cheeks were wrinkled with laughter； and he had a good story
forever on the tip of his tongue。 He stood six feet two in his stockings
（his mother used to say she had the longest Life of any woman in the
State o' Maine）； his shoulders were broad in proportion； and his lungs
just the sort to fill amply his noble chest。 Therefore； when he had
what was called in the vernacular 〃turrible bad goin'；〃 and when any other
stage…driver in York County would have shrunk into his muffler and snapped
and snarled on the slightest provocation； Life Lane opened his great
throat when he passed over the bridges at Moderation or Bonny Eagle；
and sent forth a golden； sonorous 〃Yo ho！ halloo！〃 into the still air。
The later it was and the stormier it was； the more vigor he put into
the note； and it was a drowsy postmaster indeed who did not start
from his bench by the fire at the sound of that ringing halloo。
Thus the old stage…coach； in Life Lane's time； was generally called 〃The
Midnight Cry；〃 and not such a bad name either； whether the term was derisively
applied because the stage was always late； or whether Life's 〃Yo ho！〃
had caught the popular fancy。
There was a pretty girl in Pleasant River （and； alas！ another in
Bonny Eagle） who went to bed every night with the chickens； but stayed awake
till she heard first the rumble of heavy wheels on a bridge； then a faint；
bell…like tone that might have come out of the mouth of a silver horn；
whereupon she blushed as if it were an offer of marriage； and turned
over and went to sleep。
If the stage arrived in good season； Life would have a few minutes
to sit on the loafers' beach beside the big open fire； and what a
feature he was； with his tales culled from all sorts of passengers；
who were never so fluent as when sitting beside him 〃up in front！〃
There was a tallow dip or two； and no other light save that of the fire。
Who that ever told a story could wish a more inspiring auditor than
Jacob Bean； a literal； honest old fellow who took the most
vital interest in every detail of the stories told； looking upon
their heroes and their villains as personal friends or foes。
He always sat in one corner of the fireplace； poker in hand；
and the crowd tacitly allowed him the role of Greek chorus。
Indeed； nobody could have told a story properly without Jake Bean's
parentheses and punctuation marks poked in at exciting junctures。
〃That 's so every time！〃 he would say； with a lunge at the forestick。
〃I'll bate he was glad then！〃 with another stick flung on in just
the right spot。 〃Golly！ but that served 'em right！〃 with a thrust
at the backlog。
The New England story seemed to flourish under these conditions：
a couple of good hard benches in a store or tavern； where you could
not only smoke and chew but could keep on your hat （there was not a man
in York County in those days who could say anything worth hearing
with his hat off）； the blazing logs to poke； and a cavernous fireplace
into which tobacco juice could be neatly and judiciously directed。
Those were good old times； and the stage…coach was a mighty thing
when school children were taught to take off their hats and make
a bow as the United States mail passed the old stage tavern。
Life Lane's coaching days were over long before this story begins；
but the Midnight Cry was still in pretty fair condition； and was driven
ostensibly by Jeremiah Todd； who lived on the 〃back…nippin'〃 road from
Bonny Eagle to Limington。
When I say ostensibly driven； I but follow the lead of
the villagers； who declared that； though Jerry held the reins；
Mrs。 Todd drove the stage； as she drove everything else。
As a proof of this lady's strong individuality； she was still
generally spoken of as 〃the Widder Bixby；〃 though she had been
six years wedded to Jeremiah Todd。 The Widder Bixby； then；
was strong； self…reliant； valiant； indomitable。 Jerry Todd was；
to use his wife's own characterization； so soft you could
stick a cat's tail into him without ruffling the fur。
He was always alluded to as 〃the Widder Bixby's husband；〃
but that was no new or special mortification； for he had been
known successively as Mrs。 Todd's youngest baby； the Widder
Todd's only son； Susan Todd's brother； and； when Susan Todd's
oldest boy fought at Chapultepec； William Peck's uncle。
The Widder Bixby's record was far different。
She was the mildest of the four Stover sisters of Scarboro；
and the quartette was supposed to have furnished more kinds
of temper than had ever before come from one household。
When Peace； the eldest； was mad； she frequently kicked the churn
out of the kitchen door； cream and all；and that lost
her a husband。
Love； the second； married； and according to local tradition once
kicked her husband all the way up Foolscap Hill with a dried cod…fish。
Charity； the third； married too； for the Stovers of Scarboro were
handsome girls； but she got a fit mate in her spouse。 She failed
to intimidate him； for he was a foeman worthy of her steel；
but she left his bed and board； and left in a manner that kept up
the credit of the Stover family of Scarboro。
They had had a stormy breakfast one morning before he started
to Portland with a load of hay。 〃Good…by；〃 she called；
as she stood in the door； 〃you've seen the last of me！〃
〃No such luck！〃 he said； and whipped up his horse。
Charity baked a great pile of biscuits； and left them
on the kitchen table with a pitcher of skimmed milk。
（She wouldn't give him anything to complain of； not she！）
She then put a few clothes in a bundle； and； tying on her shaker；
prepared to walk to Pleasant River； twelve miles distant。
As she locked the door and put the key in its accustomed place
under the mat； a pleasant young man drove up and explained
that he was the advance agent of the Sypher's Two…in…One
Menagerie and Circus； soon to appear in that vicinity。
He added that he should be glad to give her five tickets
to the entertainment if she would allow him to paste a few
handsome posters on that side of her barn next the road；
that their removal was attended with trifling difficulty；
owing to the nature of a very superior paste invented by himself；
that any small boy； in fact； could tear them off in an hour；
and be well paid by the gift of a ticket。
The devil