Lancaster came out and dropped fifteen cents into Olive’s hand.  He could not help regarding with interest the occupants of the carriage, and Mrs. Easterfield looked hard at him.  Suddenly Olive turned in her seat; she looked at the house, she looked at the garden, she looked at the little piazza by the side of the tollhouse.  Yes, it was really the same place.  For an instant she thought she might have been mistaken, but there was her window with the Virginia creeper under the sill where she had trained it herself.  Then she made a motion to her companion, who immediately drove on.

“What does this mean?” exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield.  “Who is that young man?  Why didn’t you give me a chance to ask after the captain, even if you did not care to do so?”

“I never saw him before!” cried Olive.  “I never heard of him.  I don’t understand anything about it.  The whole thing shocked me, and I wanted to get on.”

“I don’t think it a very serious matter,” said Mrs. Easterfield.  “Some passer-by might have relieved your uncle for a time.”

“Not at all, not at all,” replied Olive.  “Uncle John would never give the toll-gate into the charge of a passer-by, especially as old Jane was there.  I know she was there, for the basement door was open, and she never goes away and leaves it so.  That man is somebody who is staying there.  I saw an open book on the arbor bench.  Nobody reads in that arbor but me.”

“And that young man apparently,” said Mrs. Easterfield.  “I agree with you that it is surprising.”

For some minutes Olive did not speak.  “I am afraid,” she said, presently, “that my uncle is not acting quite frankly with me.  I noticed how willing he was that I should go to your house.”

“Perhaps he expected this person and wanted to get you out of the way,” laughed Mrs. Easterfield.

“Well, my dear, I do not believe your uncle is such a schemer.  He does not look like it.  Take my word for it, it will all be as simple as a-b-c when it is explained to you.”

But Olive could not readily take this view of the case, and the drive home was not nearly so pleasant as it would have been if her uncle or old Jane had taken her quarter and given her fifteen cents in change.

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.  Oh, I wish we had asked!  It was cruel in me not to!”

“Now, that is all nonsense,” said Mrs. Easterfield.  “If anything serious is the matter with your uncle he most surely would have let you know, and, besides, both the doctors in Glenford are elderly men.  I do not believe there is the slightest reason for your anxiety.  But to make you feel perfectly satisfied, I will send a man to Glenford early in the morning.  I want to send there anyway.”