Miss Stornaway, returning homewards, was not obliged to summon the new gatekeeper to open for her. Captain Staple was on the watch, and came out of the toll-house as soon as he heard the sound of carriage-wheels. He was still in his shirt-sleeves, but he now sported a neatly tied neckcloth, and had pulled on his top-boots. He had recovered from his stupefaction, too, so that Miss Stornaway, pulling up, found herself looking down, not at a gigantic hobbledehoy, as tongue-tied as he was handsome, but at a perfectly assured man who smiled up at her without a vestige of shyness, and said: “Forgive me for having unlawfully demanded toll of you! I’m a new hand—shockingly green!”
Miss Stornaway’s eyes widened. She exclaimed involuntarily: “Good heavens! you can’t be Brean’s son!”
“No, no, I fancy he’s at sea. The poor fellow was pressed, you know.”
“But what are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Keeping the gate,” he replied promptly.
She was bewildered, but amused too. “Nonsense! How could you be a gatekeeper?”
“If you mean that I’m a bad one you must remember that I’m a novice. I shall learn.”
“Nothing of the sort! I mean—Oh, I believe you’re hoaxing me!”
“Indeed I’m not!”
“Where is Brean?” she demanded.