He was not destined, however, to a solitary journey. Scarcely had he
made three quarters of a mile, when, on approaching the junction of a
wood-road which descended to the highway from a shallow little glen on
the north, the sound of hoofs and voices met his ears. Two female
figures appeared, slowly guiding their horses down the rough road. One,
from her closely-fitting riding-habit of drab cloth, might have been a
Quakeress, but for the feather (of the same sober color) in her beaver
hat, and the rosette of dark red ribbon at her throat. The other, in
bluish-gray, with a black beaver and no feather, rode a heavy old horse
with a blind halter on his head, and held the stout leathern reins with
a hand covered with a blue woollen mitten. She rode in advance, paying
little heed to her seat, but rather twisting herself out of shape in the
saddle in order to chatter to her companion in the rear.

"Do look where you are going, Sally!" cried the latter as the blinded
horse turned aside from the road to drink at a little brook that oozed
forth from under the dead leaves.

Thus appealed to, the other lady whirled around with a half-jump, and
caught sight of Gilbert Potter and of her horse's head at the same
instant.

"Whoa there, Bonnie!" she cried. "Why, Gilbert, where did you come from?
Hold up your head, I say! Martha, here's Gilbert, with a brush in his
hat! Don't be afraid, you beast; did you never smell a fox? Here, ride
in between, Gilbert, and tell us all about it! No, not on that side,
Martha; you can manage a horse better than I can!"

In her efforts to arrange the order of march, she drove her horse's head
into Gilbert's back, and came near losing her balance. With amused