"Will they be gone long, do you think?"
"Mr. Dale won't. He drove the family over to Centreville. The circus is there, you know."
"Yes," said Andy—longingly.
"Took them early, so they could look around town. They're going to stay all night with some relations, Mr. Dale isn't, though. He ought to be back by this time. He's due now. Was talking of carting a couple of loads of hay over to Gregson's this morning."
Andy's heart sank at this. He did not tell the man about the fire.
Backing away gloomily, he went out into the road again.
Every point in the landscape suggested some section of his morning's misfortunes. Andy craned his neck as he took in a distant view of the old school-house.
He made out a female figure approaching it. Andy recognized the green bombazine dress of Miss Lavinia Talcott. She carried a baggy umbrella in her hand. Andy from experience knew that its possession by the old maid was generally a sign that she was on the war-path.
"She's hunting for me," thought Andy. "I suppose I've got to face the music some time, but I'll not do it just now, I've got some business to attend to, first."
Andy hurried down the Centreville turnpike. He walked along briskly, more to get out of possible range of Miss Lavinia than with any other distinct motive in mind. Still, Andy had "business" in view. That burned down haystack haunted him. Somehow he must square himself with Mr. Dale, he said. He fancied he had found a way.
Andy did not pause until he was fully a mile down the highway. He felt safe from interruption now, and sat down on an old log and mused in a dreamy, drifting sort of a way.