"I'll be even with you yit," he cried as he dashed off.
In the afternoon Mrs. Carson came up and told us that the stage had stopped there, and that she had managed to give the passengers some coffee, bread and butter, and ham and eggs, though they had had to wait their turns for cups and plates. It appeared that the driver had quarrelled with the Lowry people that morning because the breakfast was behindhand and he was kept waiting. So he told his passengers that there was another tavern, a few miles down the road, and that he would take them there to breakfast.
"He's an awful ugly man, that he is," said Mrs. Carson, "an' he'd better 'a' stayed at Lowry's, fur he had to wait a good sight longer, after all, as it turned out. But he's dreadful mad at you, an' says he'll bring ye farmers, an' soldiers an' sailors, an' mechanics, if that's what ye want. I 'spect he'll do his best to get a load of them particular people an' drop 'em at yer door. I'd take down that sign, ef I was you. Not that me an' Danny minds, fur we're glad to git a stage to feed, an' ef you've any single man that wants lodgin', we've fixed up a room and kin keep him overnight."
Notwithstanding this warning, Euphemia and I decided not to take in our sign. We were not to be frightened by a stage-driver. The next day our own driver passed us on the road as he was going down.
"So ye're pertickler about the people ye take in, are ye?" said he, smiling. "That's all right, but ye made Bill awful mad."
It was quite late on a Monday afternoon that Bill stopped at our house again. He did not call out this time. He simply drew up, and a man with
220
