That is the ferry
scow, and on the other side it is only five miles to Laurel."
"Do you like to travel that road?" asked the Captain, with his pleasing
lisp and blush returned again.
"It makes me sad," replied Hulda; "but I do not mutter when I go past
the spot, like grandma."
"What spot?" asked Levin.
"Where father killed the traveller," Hulda said. "He died shamefully for
it. You could almost see the place but for yonder woods, where the road
to Laurel climbs the sandy hill."
"What's this?" said Van Dorn, seeing a little crowd around one of the
single-story cabins, and turning his team into the parallel street.
A very tall, grand-looking man towered above the rest, and seemed unable
to stand upright in the low cottage, with his proportions, so that he
took his place on the grassy sand without and gave his directions to
some one within:
"Levy on the spinning-wheel! Simplify the equation! Stand by your _fi.
fa.!_ Don't be chicken-hearted, constable--she's had the equivalent; now
she sees the quotient, too."
Van Dorn looked on and saw a spinning-wheel come out of the door, and a
little wool in a bag after it. Jacob Cannon put his foot on the wheel
and poked his head in the door.
"I see an axe and a coffee-mill there, constable: levy onto 'em with
your _distringas. Experientia docet stultos!_ Pass out that pair of
shoes!"
A voice of a woman crying was heard, and Van Dorn and Levin both leaped
out to look.
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