age. Dominicus was
acquainted with the toll-man, and while making change the usual
remarks on the weather passed between them.

"I suppose," said the pedler, throwing back his whiplash to bring it
down like a feather on the mare's flank, "you have not seen anything
of old Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two?"

"Yes," answered the toll-gatherer; "he passed the gate just before you
drove up, and yonder he rides now, if you can see him through the
dusk. He's been to Woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff's
sale there. The old man generally shakes hands and has a little chat
with me, but to-night he nodded, as if to say, 'Charge my toll,' and
jogged on; for, wherever he goes, he must always be at home by eight
o'clock."

"So they tell me," said Dominicus.

"I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does,"
continued the toll-gatherer. "Says I to myself tonight, 'He's more
like a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood.'"

The pedler strained his eyes through the twilight, and could just
discern the horseman now far ahead on the village road. He seemed to
recognize the rear of Mr. Higginbotham, but through the evening
shadows and amid the dust from the horse's feet the figure appeared
dim and unsubstantial, as if the shape of the mysterious old man were
faintly moulded of darkness and gray light.

Dominicus shivered. "Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other
world by way of the Kimballton turnpike," thought he. He shook the
reins and rode forward, keeping about the same distance in the rear of
the gray old shadow till the latter was concealed by a bend of the
road. On reaching this point the pedler no longer saw the man on
horseback, but found himself at the head of the village street, not
far from a number of stores and two taverns clustered round the
meeting-house steeple. On his left was a stone wall and a gate, the
boundary of a wood-lot beyond which lay an orchard, farther still a
mowing-field, and last of all a house. These were the premises of Mr.
Higginbotham, whose dwelling stood beside the old highway, but had
been left in the background by the Kimballton turnpike.

Dominicus knew the place, and the little mare stopped short by
instinct, for he was not conscious of tightening the reins. "For the
soul of me, I cannot get by this gate!" said he, trembling. "I never
shall be my own man again till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham is
hanging on the St. Michael's pear tree." He le