Fix typo

dtation -> station

src/epub/text/the-missing-chord.xhtml

@@ -41,7 +41,7 @@
 			<p>“ ‘I see in <abbr>St.</abbr> Louis once what they call a orchestrion,’ says Uncle Cal, ‘that I judged was about the finest thing in the way of music ever invented. But there ain’t room in this house for one. Anyway, I imagine they’d cost a thousand dollars. I reckon something in the piano line would suit Marilla the best. She took lessons in that respect for two years over at Birdstail. I wouldn’t trust the buying of an instrument to anybody else but myself. I reckon if I hadn’t took up sheep-raising I’d have been one of the finest composers or piano-ond-organ manufacturers in the world.’</p>
 			<p>“That was Uncle Cal’s style. But I never lost any patience with him, on account of his thinking so much of Marilla. And she thought just as much of him. He sent her to the academy over at Birdstail for two years when it took nearly every pound of wool to pay the expenses.</p>
 			<p>“Along about Tuesday Uncle Cal put out for San Antone on the last wagonload of wool. Marilla’s uncle Ben, who lived in Birdstail, come over and stayed at the ranch while Uncle Cal was gone.</p>
-			<p>“It was ninety miles to San Antone, and forty to the nearest railroad-dtation, so Uncle Cal was gone about four days. I was over at the Double-Elm when he came rolling back one evening about sundown. And up there in the wagon, sure enough, was a piano or a organ⁠—we couldn’t tell which⁠—all wrapped up in woolsacks, with a wagon-sheet tied over it in case of rain. And out skips Marilla, hollering, ‘Oh, oh!’ with her eyes shining and her hair a-flying. ‘Dad⁠—dad,’ she sings out, ‘have you brought it⁠—have you brought it?’⁠—and it right there before her eyes, as women will do.</p>
+			<p>“It was ninety miles to San Antone, and forty to the nearest railroad-station, so Uncle Cal was gone about four days. I was over at the Double-Elm when he came rolling back one evening about sundown. And up there in the wagon, sure enough, was a piano or a organ⁠—we couldn’t tell which⁠—all wrapped up in woolsacks, with a wagon-sheet tied over it in case of rain. And out skips Marilla, hollering, ‘Oh, oh!’ with her eyes shining and her hair a-flying. ‘Dad⁠—dad,’ she sings out, ‘have you brought it⁠—have you brought it?’⁠—and it right there before her eyes, as women will do.</p>
 			<p>“ ‘Finest piano in San Antone,’ says Uncle Cal, waving his hand, proud. ‘Genuine rosewood, and the finest, loudest tone you ever listened to. I heard the storekeeper play it, and I took it on the spot and paid cash down.’</p>
 			<p>“Me and Ben and Uncle Cal and a Mexican lifted it out of the wagon and carried it in the house and set it in a corner. It was one of them upright instruments, and not very heavy or very big.</p>
 			<p>“And then all of a sudden Uncle Cal flops over and says he’s mighty sick. He’s got a high fever, and he complains of his lungs. He gets into bed, while me and Ben goes out to unhitch and put the horses in the pasture, and Marilla flies around to get Uncle Cal something hot to drink. But first she puts both arms on that piano and hugs it with a soft kind of a smile, like you see kids doing with their Christmas toys.</p>