"He is—that is—I think—I believe he's gone to dinner," stammered this usually inflexible advocate of truth.
And it did not occur to Rosamond to suggest that between four and five in the afternoon was an unusual dinner-hour for a ferryman.
She looked very much disappointed, and turned as if to go.
"Won't you—may I—" eagerly stammered the youth, and added desperately, "I'm here in his place," mentally explaining to an outraged conscience that this was literally true, for was not his boat tied to a stake, and must not that stake have been driven by the old man for his boat? Dr. Watts has told us that
Sinners who grow old in sin
Are hardened in their crimes,
and the hardening process must sometimes take place with fearful rapidity, for when Rosamond, having guilelessly accepted the statement and allowed the ferryman to help her to the broad cushioned seat in the stern of the boat, asked innocently, "How much is it—for both ways, I mean? for I want to come back, if you don't mind waiting a little," he answered, with a look of becoming humility, "It is five cents, please."
"You mean for one way?" she inquired, as she fished a very small purse up from the depths of her pocket.
And he, reflecting that two and a half cents for one way would have an air of improbability about it, answered promptly, "Yes, if you please."
She opened her purse and introduced a thumb and finger, but she withdrew them with a promptness and a look of horror upon her face which suggested the presence of some noxious insect.
"You'll have to take me back, please," she said faintly. "I forgot to put any money in my purse, and I've only just found it out."