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.

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