Wally’s eyes were so focused on the path before him that he did not see the wagon approach along the road, from the opposite direction, until the driver hailed him with a “Hello, there!” that startled the pedestrian.

Wally looked up in surprise, then in amazement, at the pair of horses hitched to a wagon whose driver looked down at him with equal amazement from beneath a flimsy felt hat. “Hi.”

“Can I help ya, fella?” The wagon driver held the horses’ reins in both hands with firm grips, and peered over the horses’ heads dourly.

Wally looked aside at the timeless forest to regain his bearings. He gave a quick glance downward at mud he only then realized should have been snow and ice, and glanced upward at a sun that should have been shining on the opposite side of the Earth. “Yeah, I mean yes, I’m looking for the town of Monroe.”

The first trace of warmth entered the other man’s voice as he explained, “Well you won’t find it headin’ in that direction.” Wally watched him raise his head in the direction the wagon had been headed. “Monroe’s in the opposite direction.” Now the driver leaned forward, and gave a soft smile. “Whodj ya like a ride?”

Wally returned the smile’s softness. “Yes, be much obliged.”

The driver leaned back to a ramrod position on his elevated seat. “Good, then. Get on up here. It’s ‘bout two miles down the road.”

“Thank you.” Wally climbed up on top of the wagon and accepted for shaking the driver’s outstretched hand.

“Phineas Peabody, sir.”

Wally shook the dry, bony hand vigorously enough to prompt a look of pain on its owner’s face. “Walter Bayer. Eveyone calls me Wally.”