He's been to Woodfield this afternoon, attending a sheriff's
sale there. The old man generally shakes hands and has a little chat
with me; but tonight, he nodded- as if to say, 'Charge my toll,' and
jogged on; for wherever he goes, he must always be at home by eight
o'clock."
"So they tell me," said Dominicus.
"I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does,"
continued the toll-gatherer. "Says I to myself, tonight, he's more
like a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood."
The pedlar strained his eyes through the twilight, and could just
discern the horseman now far ahead on the village road. He seemed to
recognize the rear of Mr. Higginbotham; but through the evening
shadows, and amid the dust from the horse's feet, the figure
appeared dim and unsubstantial; as if the shape of the mysterious
old man were faintly moulded of darkness and gray light. Dominicus
shivered.
"Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other world, by way of the
Kimballton turnpike," thought he.
He shook the reins and rode forward, keeping about the same
distance in the rear of the gray old shadow, till the latter was
concealed by a bend of the road. On reaching this point, the pedlar no
longer saw the man on horseback, but found himself at the head of
the village street, not far from a number of stores and two taverns,
clustered round the meeting-house steeple.
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