“Now, Olive,” said she, for she was now very familiar with her guest, “I will leave the return route to you.  Shall we go back by the river road—­and the scenery will be very different when going in the other direction—­or shall we drive over to Glenford, and go home by the turnpike?  That is a little farther, but the road is a great deal better?”

“Oh, let us go that way,” cried Olive.  “We will go through Uncle John’s toll-gate, and you must let me pay the toll.  It will be such fun to pay toll to Uncle John, or old Jane.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Easterfield, “we will go that way.”

When the horses had passed through Glenford and had turned their heads homeward, they clattered along at a fine rate over the smooth turnpike, and Olive was in as high spirits as they were.

“Whoever comes out to take toll,” said she, “I intend to be treated as an ordinary traveler and nothing else.  I have often taken toll, but I never paid it in my life.  And they must take it—­no gratis traveling for me.  But I hope you won’t mind stopping long enough for me to say a few words after I have transacted the regular business.”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Easterfield, “you can chat as much as you like.  We have plenty of time.”

Olive held in her hand a quarter of a dollar; she was determined they should make change for her, and that everything should be done properly.

Dick Lancaster sat in the garden arbor, reading.  He was becoming a little tired of this visit to his father’s old friend.  He liked Captain Asher and appreciated his hospitality, but there was nothing very interesting for him to do in this place, and he had thought that it might be a very good thing if the several days for which he had been invited should terminate on the morrow.  There were some very attractive plans ahead of him, and he felt that he had now done his full duty by his father and his father’s old friend.

Captain Asher was engaged with some matters about his little farm, and Lancaster had asked as a favor that he might be allowed to tend the toll-gate during his absence.  It would be something to do, and, moreover, something out of the way.

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.

The carriage stopped, and when a young man stepped out from the tollhouse Olive gave a sudden start, and the words with which she had intended to greet her uncle or old Jane instantly melted away.

“Don’t push me out of the carriage,” said Mrs. Easterfield, good-naturedly, and she, too, looked at the young man.

“For two horses and a vehicle,” said Dick Lancaster, “ten cents, if you please.”

Olive made no answer, but handed him the quarter with which he retired to make change.  Mrs. Easterfield opened her mouth to speak, but Olive put her finger on her lips and shook her head; the situation astonished her, but she did not wish to ask that stranger to explain it.