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The time had come for the house party at Broadstone to break up, and the lieutenant and Mrs. Asher had arranged to spend the next few months in the city, but they gladly accepted Mr. Easterfield's generous invitation and would return to the toll-gate alter a few weeks preparatory to sailing, that the party might get together, for Captain Lancaster was to remain at the tollhouse. Mr.
Easterfield's regard for Lancaster was growing, partly on account of the confidence she had already reposed in him. In her present state of mind she would have been glad to give him still more, for she did not know what to do about Olive and Mr.
It was, in fact, the day before Olive's return to the toll-gate that Mr. Easterfield walked in upon them as they were sitting at work in Mrs. Easterfield's room. He had been unexpectedly summoned to the city three days before, and had gone with no explanation to his wife. She did not think much about it, as he was accustomed to going and coming in a somewhat erratic manner.
Easterfield's little room, the open letter in her hand. As Mrs. Easterfield looked up from her writing-table the girl seemed transformed; she was taller, she was straighter, her face had lost its bloom, and her eyes blazed. "Would you believe it!" she said, grating out the words as she spoke. "My father is going to be married!" Mrs. Easterfield dropped her pen, and her face lost color.
Two men in a buggy with a broken spring and a coffee bag laid over the loins of an imperfectly set-up horse had been waiting for nearly a minute behind Mrs. Easterfield's carriage, desiring to pay their toll and pass through. So the captain went out of the garden-gate, collected the toll from the two men, and directed them to go round the carriage and pass on in peace, which they did. Then Mrs.
Easterfield's sharp eyes had seen this, and she had nothing to say. "I believe," continued Olive, "that a retrospect love will be a better foundation for conjugal happiness than any other sort of affection. One can always look back to it no matter what happens, and be happy in the memory of it. It would be something distinct which could never be interfered with.
That night, soon after the family at Broadstone had retired to their rooms, Olive knocked at the door of Mrs. Easterfield's chamber. "Do you know," she exclaimed, when she had been told to enter, "that a horrible idea has come into my head? Uncle John may have been taken sick, and that man looked just like a doctor. Old Jane was busy with uncle, and as the doctor had to wait, he took the toll.
Easterfield's intense enjoyment. Then she proceeded to praise Olive for the spirit she had shown under these trying circumstances; and, in this connection, naturally there came into the recital the spirit the old woman herself had shown under these same trying circumstances, and how she had got all ready to leave the minute the nuptial knot was tied and before that Maria Port could reach the toll-gate, although it was like tearing herself apart to leave the spot where she had lived so many years.
Easterfield's private and confidential secretary. And, somehow or other, seeing him so often, and sometimes being his partner at cards when two were needed to make up a game, I forgot that I was older than he, and I actually fell in love with him.
When he perceived the approach of Mrs. Easterfield's carriage Lancaster walked down to the tollhouse, and stopped for a minute to glance over the rates of toll which were pasted up inside the door as well as out.
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