meet Rachel; and could then ask the question.

If he turned to his left hand--standing as he did at the gate with his
back to the back of the house--he would regain the high road, whence he
came. Did he turn to the right, he would plunge into fields and lanes,
and covered ways, and emerge at length, by a round, in the midst of the
village, almost close to his own house. It was a lonely way at night,
and longer than the other, but Master Dan Duff regarded those as
pleasant evils, in comparison with a "basting." He took his hands out of
his pockets, brought down his feet to a level, and turned to it,
whistling still.

It was a tolerably light night. The moon was up, though not very high,
and a few stars might be seen here and there in the blue canopy above.
Mr. Dan Duff proceeded on his way, not very quickly. Some dim idea was
penetrating his brain that the slower he walked, the better chance there
might be of his meeting Rachel.

"She's just a cat, is that Susan Peckaby!" decided he, with acrimony, in
the intervals of his whistling. "It was her as put mother up to the
thought o' sending me to-night: Rachel Frost said the things 'ud do in
the morning. 'Let Dan carry 'em up now,' says Dame Peckaby, 'and ask her
about the print, and then I'll take it home along o' me.' And if I go in
without the answer, she'll be the first to help mother to baste me! Hi!
ho! hur! hur-r-r-r!"

This last exclamation was caused by his catching sight of some small
animal scudding along. He was at that moment traversing a narrow,
winding lane; and, in the field to the right, as he looked in at the
open gate, he saw the movement. It might be a cat, it might be a hare,