I laughed as I unfastened the horse. "It will not take me long to come
back," I said. "Now, I will get in first, and, when I have him
properly in hand, you can mount on the other side."
The young lady appeared to have entirely recovered from the effects of
her fright, and was by my side in a moment. The horse danced a little
as we started and tried to look behind him, but he soon felt that he
was under control, and trotted off finely.
I now thought that I ought to tell her who I was, for I did not want
to be taken for a travelling showman, although I really did not
suppose that she would make such a mistake.
"So you are the school-master at Walford!" said she. "I have heard
about you. Little Billy Marshall is one of your scholars."
I admitted that he was, and that I was afraid he did not do me very
much credit.
"Perhaps not," she said, "but he is a good boy. His mother sometimes
works for us; she does quite heavy jobs of sewing, and Billy brings
them up by train. He was here a little more than a week ago, and I
asked him how he was getting on at school, and if he had a good
teacher, and he said the man was pretty good. But I want to know about
the bear. How in the world did you happen to be leading a bear?"
I related the ursine incident, which amused her very much, and, as she
was a wheelwoman herself, she commiserated with me sincerely on the
damage to my machine.
"So you stopped at the Holly Sprig?" she said. "And how did you like
the mistress of that little inn?"
I replied that I had found her very interesting.
"Yes, she is an interesting woman," said my companion, "and a very
pretty one, too. Some people wonder why she continues to keep the inn,
but perhaps she has to. You know, her husband was murdered."
"No, I did not!" I exclaimed, in surprise. "I knew he was not
living--but murdered! That is dreadful! How did that happen?"
"Nobody knows," she answered. "They had not been married very long--I
do not know how long--when he was killed. He went to New York on
business by himself, and did not come back. They were searching for
him days and days--ever so long, and they could find no clew. At
last--it may have been a month afterwards--or perhaps it was more--it
was found that he had been murdered. His body had been discovered, and
was supposed to be that of somebody else, and had been buried in
whatever place the authorities buried people in such cases. Then it
was too late to get it or to identify it, or to do anything. Wasn't
that perfectly awful?"