noon
The village street stretched in one direction down the hill to the two-miles-off railway station , and in the other to the large white house with pillared portico , from which there was a fine view of the sunset , and beyond which it still continued , purposeful but lonely , until it came suddenly upon half a dozen houses which turned out to be another village . Not a man , woman , or child crossed from one house to another ; not a dog or a cat wandered about in the sunshine . The white houses looked as if no one lived in them ; the white church , with its sloping approach , looked as if no one ever preached in it and no one ever came to it to listen . It seemed to Lucyet Stevens , as she sat at the little window of the post-office , behind which her official face looked so much more important than it ever did anywhere else , as if the village street itself were listening for the arrival of the noon mail . For it was nearly time for the daily period of almost feverish activity . By and by from the station would come Truman Hanks with the leather bag which , in village and city alike , is the outward and visible sign of the fidelity of the government . It is probable that he will bring it up in a single carriage , for though sometimes he takes the two-seated one , in case there should be a human arrival who would like to be driven up , this possibility was so slight a one at this time of year that it was hardly worth considering .