Some furtive malice in his tone caused the stranger to turn sharply upon
him.

"The girl's mother--who was she?" he asked.

"Janet Merryweather, the prettiest gal that ever set foot on these
roads. Ah, 'twas a sad story, was hers, an' the less said about it,
the soonest forgotten. Thar was some folks, the miller among 'em, that
dropped dead out with the old minister--that was befo' Mr. Mullen's
time--for not wantin' her to be laid in the churchyard. A hard case,
doubtless, but a pious man such as I likes to feel sartain that however
much he may have fooled along with sinful women in this world, only the
most respectable of thar sex will rise around him at the Jedgment."

"And the father?" inquired the stranger, with a sound as if he drew in
his breath sharply.

"Accordin' to the Law an' the Prophets she hadn't any. That may be goin'
agin natur, suh, but 'tis stickin' close to Holy Writ an' the wisdom of
God."

To this the young man's only response was a sudden angry aversion that
showed in his face. Then lifting his horse's head from the trodden grass
by the well, he sprang into the saddle, and started, as the miller had
done, over the three roads into the turnpike. Remembering as he passed
the gate posts that he had spoken no parting word to the group under the
mulberry tree, he raised himself in his stirrups, and called back "Good
day to you. Many thanks," in his pleasant voice.