"Wasn't this meeting an accident?" he asked, hoping that she would say it was not, on her part.
"Yes. But sitting here under this tree is not. And I must go," she added, arising. He got up and stood there, hoping that she would hold out her hand to him, but she did not. "Good-bye," she said, smiling as she turned away.
"Let me hope for another accident, soon," Lyman replied, bowing to her.
CHAPTER XVIII.
At the Wagon-Maker's Shop.
Sawyer drove rapidly toward Spring Hill, about eight miles distant from Old Ebenezer. The land was uneven, with oak ridges, beech slopes and shell-bark hickory flats, but the road was smooth, and for the two trotting horses the buggy was merely a plaything. He drew up at a wagon-maker's shop, the end of his journey, and threw the lines to a negro who came forward to meet him.
"You needn't feed them," he said. "Take the harness off and let them run about the lot. They've been shut up till they're frisky."
A large man, in his shirt sleeves, and with collar unbuttoned, met him at the door.