"
"I've asked nigh a dozen men, and they all tell the same tale," said
Zene.
"People ought to know the lay of the land in their own neighborhood,"
admitted Grandma Padgett. "Well, we'll try what virtue there is in the
dirt road."
So she clucked to the carriage horses and Zene went back to his
charge.
The last toll-gate they would see for thirty miles drew its pole
down before them. Zene paid according to the usual arrangement, and
the toll-man only stood in the door to see the carriage pass.
"I wouldn't like to live in a little bit of a house sticking out on
the 'pike like that," said aunt Corinne to her nephew. "Folks could
run against it on dark nights. Does he stay there by himself? And if
robbers or old beggars came by they could nab him the minute he
opened his door."
"But if he has any boys," suggested Robert looking back, "they can
see everybody pass, and it'd be just as good as going some place all
the time. And who's afraid of robbers!"
Zene beckoned to the carriage as he turned off the 'pike. For a
distance the wagon moved ahead of them, between tall stake fences
which were overrun with vines or had their corners crowded with bushes.
Wheat and cornfields and sweet-smelling buckwheat spread out on each
side until the woods met them, and not a bit of the afternoon heat
touched the carriage after that.
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