They rode up the street past two or three of the houses, the hotel and
the office. Bob, peering in through the windows, saw tables and chairs,
old chromos and newer lithographs on the walls. Under the tree at the
side of the hotel hung a water _olla_ with a porcelain cup atop. Near
the back porch stood a screen meat safe.
But not a soul was in sight. The street was deserted, the houses empty,
the office unoccupied. As they proceeded Bob expected from one moment to
the next to see a door open, a figure saunter around a corner. Save for
the jays and squirrels, the place was absolutely empty.
For some minutes the full realization of this fact was slow in coming.
The village exhibited none of the symptoms of abandonment. The window
glass was whole; the furniture of such houses as Bob had glanced into
while passing stood in its accustomed places. A few strokes of the broom
might have made any one of them immediately fit for habitation. The
place looked less deserted than asleep; like one of the enchanted
palaces so dear to tales of magic. It would not have seemed greatly
wonderful to Bob to have seen the town spring suddenly to life in
obedience to some spell.
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