The Broad Highway

"Thank you, sir," she answered in a very small voice, and I more

than suspected that she was laughing at me.

"Not," I therefore continued, "that there was any real danger."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"I mean that, in all probability, the man you saw was Black

George, a very good friend of mine, who, though he may imagine he

has a grudge against me, is too much of a man to lie in wait to

do me hurt."

"Then why should he hide in the hedge?"

"Because he committed the mistake of throwing the town Beadle

over the churchyard wall, and is, consequently, in hiding, for

the present."

"He has an ill-sounding name."

"And is the manliest, gentlest, truest, and worthiest fellow that

ever wore the leather apron."

Seeing how perseveringly she kept the whole breadth of the path

between us, I presently fell back and walked behind her; now her

head was bent, and thus I could not but remark the little curls

and tendrils of hair upon her neck, whose sole object seemed to

be to make the white skin more white by contrast.

"Peter," said she suddenly, speaking over her shoulder, "of what

are you thinking?"

"Of a certain steak pasty that was promised for my supper," I

answered immediately, mendacious.

"Oh!"

"And what," I inquired, "what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking, Peter, that the--shadow in the hedge may not

have been Black George, after all."