In due course of time the vehicle approached near enough to the toll-gate for Olive to take an observation of its occupant.  This was a middle-aged woman, dressed in black, holding a black fan.  She wore a black bonnet with a little bit of red in it.  Her face was small and pale, its texture and color suggesting a boiled apple dumpling.  She had small eyes of which it can be said that they were of a different color from her face, and were therefore noticeable.  Her lips were not prominent, and were closely pressed together as if some one had begun to cut a dumpling, but had stopped after making one incision.

This somewhat somber person leaned forward in the seat behind her young driver, and steadily stared at Olive.  When the horse had passed the toll-bar the boy stopped it so that his passenger and Olive were face to face and very near each other.

“Seven cents, please,” said Olive.

The cleft in the dumpling enlarged itself, and the woman spoke.  “Bless my soul,” she said, “are you Captain Asher’s niece?”

“I am,” said Olive in surprise.

“Well, well,” said the other, “that just beats me!  When I heard he had his niece with him I thought she was a plain girl, with short frocks and her hair plaited down her back.”

Olive did not like this woman.  It is wonderful how quickly likes and dislikes may be generated.

“But you see I am not,” she replied.  “Seven cents, please.”

“Don’t you suppose I know what the toll is?” said the woman in the carriage.  “I’m sure I’ve traveled over this road often enough to know that.  But what I’m thinkin’ about is the difference between what I thought the captain’s niece was and what she really is.”

“It does not make any difference what the difference is,” said Olive, speaking quickly and with perhaps a little sharpness in her voice, “all I want is for you to pay me the toll.”

“I’m not goin’ to pay any toll,” said the other.

Olive’s face flushed.  “Little boy,” she exclaimed, “back that horse!” As the youngster obeyed her peremptory request Olive gave a quick jerk to a rope and brought down the toll-gate bar so that it stretched itself across the road, barely missing in its downward sweep the nose of the unoffending horse.  “Now,” said Olive, “if you are ready to pay your toll you can go through this gate, and if you are not, you can turn round and go back where you came from.”

“I’m not goin’ to pay any toll,” said the other, “and I don’t want to go through the gate.  I came to see Captain Asher.—­Johnny, turn your horse a little and let me get out.  Then you can stop in the shade of this tree and wait until I’m ready to go back.—­I suppose the captain’s in,” she said to Olive, “but if he isn’t, I can wait.”

“Oh, he’s at home,” said Olive, “and, of course, if I had known you were coming to see him, I would not have asked you for your toll.  This way, please,” and she stepped toward a gate in the garden hedge.