five o'clock
Most of the onlookers seemed to suspect the outfit of being part of a travelling menagerie , so almost against my will I put up the flaps , tied Bock to the tail of the wagon , and began to answer the humourous questions of the crowd . Two or three bought books without any urging , and it was some time before I could get away . Finally I shut up the van and pulled off , as I was afraid of seeing some one I knew . As I turned into the Woodbridge Road I heard the whistle of the five o'clock train to New York . The twenty miles of road between Sabine Farm and Port Vigor was all familiar to me , but now to my relief I struck into a region that I had never visited . On my occasional trips to Boston I had always taken the train at Port Vigor , so the country roads were unknown . But I had set out on the Woodbridge way because Mifflin had spoken of a farmer , Mr. Pratt , who lived about four miles out of Port Vigor , on the Woodbridge Road .