When the pretty toll-taker reached town she disposed of her basket of
eggs at even a higher price than Foster Crain, the poultry vendor, had
quoted--she was a famous hand at bargaining and a shrewd trader--then
set about making some purchases.
She saw the Squire's horse and buggy standing at a hitching post near
the courthouse, and determined that she would wait until the vehicle had
disappeared before she started back home. Therefore she dallied over her
shopping in a truly feminine way, and dropped in to have a friendly chat
with an acquaintance or two; then, noting the horse and buggy had gone,
she finally started homeward.
The day was now hastening toward noon, the sun had grown oppressive,
and, with several bundles to carry, Sally felt that the return would not
be so pleasant as the coming had been. She looked about her, hoping to
find some one--that is, some one besides the Squire--who might be going
in the direction of the new pike gate, and with a seat to offer, but no
one seemed to be in town from her neighborhood on this morning, and so
she set out alone.
Just as Sally reached the edge of the town, where two streets
intersected, who should drive up the other street but the Squire? The
meeting was wholly an accidental one, but after her persistent efforts
to avoid him all the morning, the encounter seemed like the especial
workings of a perverse fate. The Squire was close upon her before she
even saw him. There was no chance for escape or subterfuge.
"Ah, Miss Sally! Good morning to you!" he cried, with one of his amatory
ogles that always sent a cold chill over her and strongly aroused within
her bosom a spirit of determined opposition. "I have been looking for
you all the morning. Where have you been hiding yourself?" he asked, as
he drove up to where she had reluctantly stopped on hearing her name
called.
"Behind the stone wall," Sally was half tempted to answer, wishing, at
the moment, that she could have availed herself of its protection in
the present instance; but she only nodded gravely and said that she had
been making a few purchases for her mother.
"I tried to overtake you early this morning," continued the Squire,
glibly. "Your mother said you had been gone but a little while when I
passed the gate. You must have walked pretty fast."
"I did," acknowledged Sally, with a covert smile. "It was cool and
pleasant walking."
"Well, come! Put your bundles down in front and jump in," said her
companion. "Riding's better than walking any day, and good company's
better than either," he added, with a tender leer at her, which Sally
pretended not to see.
There was nothing for it but to accept the proffered seat. She did not
dare openly to offend the Squire by a refusal to ride with him, though
she would willingly have chosen the long, warm walk, even with the
additional burden of her bundles, in preference to his company. As her
mother had said only that morning, it was through his influence that she
had been appointed keeper of the New Pike Gate, and it was due to him
she now kept it, so Sally civilly thanked him and got into the buggy.
"If I had counted on such good company, I would have had this old
rattletrap cleaned up a bit," said the Squire, apologetically, as they
drove off. "But, never mind!" he added, jocosely. "When we start out on
our wedding trip, I'll buy a brand-new, shiny rig, out an' out."
"_We?_" echoed Sally, with a certain sharpness of tone.
"You don't suppose I'd care to go on a bridal trip alone, do you?"
inquired the Squire, laconically, and with a wink of one watery eye.
"I'm afraid you will, if you depend on me to go along with you,"
answered Sally, dryly.
"Now, my dear, you surely wouldn't be that cruel?" said the Squire,
edging a little closer to Sally, who as promptly moved away. "Haven't I
been depending on your going all the while, and haven't I said that I
wouldn't have any other girl but you, though there's plenty would be
only too glad to go for the asking?"
"An' there's one that wouldn't," announced Sally, coolly.
[Illustration: "WHEN WE START ON OUR WEDDING TRIP I'LL BUY A BRAND NEW,
SHINY RIG."]
"Then I can show her where she stands mightily in her own light," said
the Squire, suddenly dropping into a more serious tone.
"How so?"
"By giving her some very good reasons why she should act differently."
"What reasons?" asked Sally, arousing to some slight show of interest.
"Well, now, we'll suppose, for instance, the girl to be you," began the
Squire, argumentatively. "You and your mother are depending on the
toll-gate for a living, and it makes you a comfortable one, at any rate.
Did you know the toll-gate raiders were at work?" asked the Squire,
abruptly.
The girl caught her breath with a quick start.
"No," she answered, quickly. "Where?"
"Right here in this very county. They burned a toll-house just on the
boundary line only the other night, and cut down the pole of one gate in
the edge of this county last night, so I was told today," said the
Squire, impressively.
"I'm afraid we're going to have a deal of trouble over the matter before
it's ended," he continued, thoughtfully, shrewdly following the
impression he had evidently made on the mind of his hearer. "The spirit
of lawlessness seems to be widely spreading."
"Do you think there's any danger of the raiders payin' a visit to the
New Pike Gate?" questioned Sally, anxiously.
"I shouldn't be the least surprised," answered her companion, with a
dubious shake of the head. "The night-riders seem determined to make way
with all the toll-gates in this part of the country if they can."
"I can't think they would harm us," insisted Sally, "two poor, helpless
women."
"Likely not, but if the raiders have made up their minds to have free
roads, as they appear to have done, they would not hesitate to burn the
toll-house over your heads, which would leave you and your mother
without a shelter, don't you see?"
The Squire paused, and the girl sat buried in deep thought for some
moments.
"In that case, what could you do or where could you go?" asked the
Squire, at last breaking the silence that had fallen between them.
"Heaven only knows!" cried the girl, earnestly.
"Now, affairs stand just in this way," continued the Squire, craftily.
"If the raiders should burn the toll-house--and it is a most probable
thing, I fear--it would leave you two women in rather a bad plight. But
if you'll only agree to marry me, why, there's a nice home waiting for
you, and your mother will also have a comfortable shelter in her old
age, and neither of you will have cause to worry about the future."
The Squire paused, but Sally made no answer. She knew full well that his
words were quite true concerning the dependence of her mother and
herself on the toll-gate for a living. She also knew that as long as the
Squire entertained the faintest hope of ultimately winning her the gate
was secured to her mother, and therefore she had not felt troubled on
this score; but now that a new and unlooked-for danger threatened in the
unusual and unexpected presence of the raiders, she tremulously asked
herself, "What, indeed, if the toll-houses were destroyed, would become
of her and her mother?"
The girl felt no fears for herself regarding the future--she was
energetic and had been familiar with work all her life; it held no
terrors for her; she could hire out--wash, cook, sew--perhaps some day
marry the man of her choice when he should be in a position to take unto
himself a wife; but, with her mother's welfare also to be considered,
the matter grew far more complex.
"Don't you see just how matters stand?" asked the Squire, persuasively,
almost tenderly, breaking the long silence.
Sally gravely nodded her head.
"I see," she answered, in a low tone.