In a minute we were all three riding at full speed toward the
village. Stuart was playing with his glove, which he had taken off and
dangled to and fro. His brows were knit, and he was reflecting. We did
not interrupt him, and in ten minutes we were all clattering over the
main street of the hamlet.
Stuart pushed on by the tavern, without pausing, in the direction of
Fleetwood, when just as he reached the eastern suburbs of the town a
small one-horse wagon, leaving the place, attracted his attention.
There was just sufficient light to make out the figures in the wagon.
There were two. One was a portly and plainly clad old countryman, with
a prominent nose, a double chin, and fat hands decorated with pinchbeck
rings. Beside him sat an old woman, as fat as himself, wearing a faded
calico gown, a "coal-scuttle" bonnet, and a huge ruffled cap beneath.
Stuart looked keenly at the wagon, called to the driver to halt, and
demanded whither he was going, and on what business. The old countryman
smiled. The question seemed to strike him as absurd, and his
explanation was simple and calculated to remove all suspicion. He
stated that his name was Brown--that he lived near the village; had
brought in a load of vegetables to sell, on the preceding evening--some
friends had persuaded him and "his old woman" to spend the night, and
they were now going home.
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