Ford Village has no railroad station, being on the other side of theriver from Porter's Falls, and accessible only by the ford which givesit its name, and a ferry line.
The ferry-boat was waiting when Rebecca Flint got off the train withher bag and lunch basket. When she and her small trunk were safelyembarked she sat stiff and straight and calm in the ferry-boat as itshot swiftly and smoothly across stream. There was a horse attached toa light country wagon on board, and he pawed the deck uneasily. Hisowner stood near, with a wary eye upon him, although he was chewing,with as dully reflective an expression as a cow. Beside Rebecca sat awoman of about her own age, who kept looking at her with furtivecuriosity; her husband, short and stout and saturnine, stood near her.Rebecca paid no attention to either of them. She was tall and spareand pale, the type of a spinster, yet with rudimentary lines andexpressions of matronhood. She all unconsciously held her shawl, rolledup in a canvas bag, on her left hip, as if it had been a child. Shewore a settled frown of dissent at life, but it was the frown of amother who regarded life as a froward child, rather than as anoverwhelming fate.
The other woman continued staring at her; she was mildly stupid, exceptfor an over-developed curiosity which made her at times sharp beyondbelief. Her eyes glittered, red spots came on her flaccid cheeks; shekept opening her mouth to speak, making little abortive motions.Finally she could endure it no longer; she nudged Rebecca boldly.
"A pleasant day," said she.
Rebecca looked at her and nodded coldly.
"Yes, very," she assented.
"Have you come far?"
"I have come from Michigan."
"Oh!" said the woman, with awe. "It's a long way," she remarkedpresently.
"Yes, it is," replied Rebecca, conclusively.
Still the other woman was not daunted; there was something which shedetermined to know, possibly roused thereto by a vague sense ofincongruity in the other's appearance. "It's a long ways to come andleave a family," she remarked with painful slyness.
"I ain't got any family to leave," returned Rebecca shortly.
"Then you ain't—"
"No, I ain't."
"Oh!" said the woman.
Rebecca looked straight ahead at the race of the river.
It was a long ferry. Finally Rebecca herself waxed unexpectedlyloquacious. She turned to the other woman and inquired if she knewJohn Dent's widow who lived in Ford Village. "Her husband died aboutthree years ago," said she, by way of detail.
The woman started violently. She turned pale, then she flushed; shecast a strange glance at her husband,