`` I suppose , '' said the pedler , throwing back his whiplash to bring it down like a feather on the mare 's flank , `` you have not seen anything of old Mr. Higginbotham within a day or two ? '' `` Yes , '' answered the toll-gatherer ; `` he passed the gate just before you drove up , and yonder he rides now , if you can see him through the dusk . He 's been to Woodfield this afternoon , attending a sheriff 's sale there . The old man generally shakes hands and has a little chat with me , but to-night he nodded , as if to say , ` Charge my toll , ' and jogged on ; for , wherever he goes , he must always be at home by eight o'clock . '' `` So they tell me , '' said Dominicus . `` I never saw a man look so yellow and thin as the squire does , '' continued the toll-gatherer . `` Says I to myself tonight , ` He 's more like a ghost or an old mummy than good flesh and blood . ' '' The pedler strained his eyes through the twilight , and could just discern the horseman now far ahead on the village road . He seemed to recognize the rear of Mr. Higginbotham , but through the evening shadows and amid the dust from the horse 's feet the figure appeared dim and unsubstantial , as if the shape of the mysterious old man were faintly moulded of darkness and gray light . Dominicus shivered . `` Mr. Higginbotham has come back from the other world by way of the Kimballton turnpike , '' thought he . He shook the reins and rode forward , keeping about the same distance in the rear of the gray old shadow till the latter was concealed by a bend of the road . On reaching this point the pedler no longer saw the man on horseback , but found himself at the head of the village street , not far from a number of stores and two taverns clustered round the meeting-house steeple . On his left was a stone wall and a gate , the boundary of a wood-lot beyond which lay an orchard , farther still a mowing-field , and last of all a house . These were the premises of Mr. Higginbotham , whose dwelling stood beside the old highway , but had been left in the background by the Kimballton turnpike . Dominicus knew the place , and the little mare stopped short by instinct , for he was not conscious of tightening the reins . `` For the soul of me , I can not get by this gate ! '' said he , trembling . `` I never shall be my own man again till I see whether Mr. Higginbotham is hanging on the St. Michael 's pear tree . '' He leaped from the cart , gave the rein a turn round the gate-post , and ran along the green path of the wood-lot as if Old Nick were chasing behind .
Just then the village clock tolled eight , and as each deep stroke fell Dominicus gave a fresh bound and flew faster than before , till , dim XXXXX the solitary centre of the orchard , he saw the fated pear tree .
about along amid as by in on to whether within