gate to see what was wanted.

"You know you do not have to pay going back," she said.

"I know that," answered Mrs. Easterfield, "but I want to ask about
tickets or monthly payments of toll, or whatever your arrangements are
for that sort of thing."

"I really do not know," said Olive, "but I will go and ask about it."

"But stop one minute," exclaimed Mrs. Easterfield, leaning over the side
of the carriage. "Is it your father who keeps this toll-gate?"

For some reason or other which she could not have explained to herself,
Olive felt that it was incumbent upon her to assert herself, and she
answered: "Oh, no, indeed. My father is Lieutenant-Commander Alfred
Asher, of the cruiser Hopatcong."

Without another word Mrs. Easterfield pushed open the door of the
carriage and stepped to the ground, exclaiming: "As I passed this
morning I knew there was something about this place that brought back to
my mind old times and old friends, and now I see what it was; it was
you. I caught but one glimpse of you and I did not know you. But it was
enough. I knew your father very well when I was a girl, and later I was
with him and your mother in Dresden. You were a girl of twelve or
thirteen, going to school, and I never saw much of you. But it is either
your father or your mother that I saw in your face as you sat in that
arbor, and I knew the face, although I did not know who owned it. I am
Mrs. Easterfield, but that will not help you to know me, for I was not
married when I knew your father."

Olive's eyes sparkled as she took the two hands extended to her. "I
don't remember you at all," she said, "but if you are the friend of my
father and mother--"

"Then I am to be your friend, isn't it?" interrupted Mrs. Easterfield.

"I hope so," answered Olive.

"Now, then," said Mrs. Easterfield, "I want you to tell me how in the
world you come to be here."

There were two stools in the tollhouse, and Olive, having invited her
visitor to seat herself on the better one, took the other, and told Mrs.
Easterfield how she happened to be there.

"And that handsome elderly man who took the toll this morning is your
uncle?"

"Yes, my father's only brother," said Olive.

"A good deal older," said Mrs. Easterfield.

"Oh, yes, but I do not know how much."

"And you call him captain. Was he also in the navy?"

"No," said Olive, "he was in the merchant service, and has retired. It
seems queer that he should be keeping a toll-gate, b