The first thing Gilbert did, on reaching the village, was to post the letter in season for the mail-rider, who went once a week to and fro between Chester and Peach-bottom Ferry, on the Susquehanna. Then he crossed the street to Dr. Deane's, in order to inquire for Mark, but with the chief hope of seeing Martha for one sweet moment, at least. In this, however, he was disappointed; as he reached the gate, Mark issued from the door.
“Why, Gilbert, old boy!” he shouted; “the sight o' you's good for sore eyes! What have you been about since that Sunday evening we rode up the west branch? I was jist steppin' over to the tavern to see the fellows—come along, and have a glass o' Rye!”
He threw his heavy arm over Gilbert's shoulder, and drew him along.
“In a minute, Mark; wait a bit—I've a little matter of business with you. I need to borrow seventy-five dollars for a month or six weeks, until my wheat is sold. Have you that much that you're not using?”
“That and more comin' to me soon,” said Mark, “and of course you can have it. Want it right away?”
“Very likely in ten or twelve days.”
“Oh, well, never fear—I'll have some accounts squared by that time! Come along!” And therewith the good-natured fellow hurried his friend into the bar-room of the Unicorn.
“Done pretty well, haulin', this time?” asked Mark, as they touched glasses.
“Very well,” answered Gilbert, “seeing it's the last time. I'm at an end with hauling now.”
“You don't say so? Here's to your good luck!” exclaimed Mark, emptying his glass.