"Yes, miss; that is just what I say—a very much good story. I long for the end to come."
"Not exactly the compliment intended," remarked the Mistress of the House, with a smile.
"How do you think it will end?" asked the Daughter of the House, impulsively, addressing the Frenchman.
"It is not polite to imagine," he replied.
"But I want to know," she persisted. "It is not impolite to guess."
"Well, then, miss, he marry nobody. Too many women in that Villa Thompson. But we sadly interrupt! Beg pardon, captain."
"The captain I am telling about in my story," said the Master of the House, resuming his narrative, "could not silence Sam Twitty.
"'Now I tell you, cap'n,' he said, as he assisted in taking the horse out of the wagon, 'don't you go and miss a chance. Here's a fust-rate woman, with red cheeks and mighty pretty hair, and a widow, too. Even if you don't take her now, it's my advice that you look at her sharp with the idea that if things don't turn out in Thompsontown as you'd like them to, it would be mighty comfortin' to you to pick her up on your way back.'
"When Captain Abner and Sam returned from the stable they looked up and down the far-stretching road, and then, at the invitation of the toll-gate woman, they seated themselves on a bench at the back of the toll-house.
"''Tisn't a very good time for people to be passin',' said she. 'Not many folks is on the road between twelve and one. They're generally feedin' themselves and their horses. But if you can make yourselves comfortable here in the shade, I don't think you'll have to wait very long. I'll jes step in and see if my dinner ain't cooked. There ain't nobody in sight.'