Robert would hate to meet
Jonathan in coming days--and he had a boy's faith that he should be
constantly repassing old acquaintances in this world--and have no
peril to put in the balance against Jonathan's adventures. Of course
he wanted to come out on the right side of the peril, it does not
tell well otherwise.
But while aunt Corinne's mind ran as constantly on robbers, they had
no charms for her. She did not want to be robbed, and was glad her
lines had not fallen in the lonely toll-house. Being robbed appeared
to her like the measles, mumps, or whooping-cough; more interesting
in a neighboring family than in your own. She would avoid it if
possible, yet the conviction grew upon her that it was not to be
escaped. The strange passers-by who once pleasantly varied the road,
now became objects of dread. Though Zene got past them in safety, and
though they gave the carriage a wide road, aunt Corinne never failed
to turn and watch them to a safe distance, lest they should make a
treacherous charge in the rear.
Had they been riding through some dismal swamp, the landscape's
influence would have accounted for all these terrors. But it was the
pretty region of Western Indiana, containing hills and bird-songs
enough to swallow up a thousand stories of toll-gate robberies in
happy sight and sound.
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