Lettice.

The sheriff immediately took up his bid. "Thirty-one hundred! thirty-one,
gentlemen; only thirty-one for this fine bottom land, all cleared--"

There was a prolonged pause in the bidding, during which even the
auctioneer grew apathetic. He repeated the assertion that the buildings
were in the best repair; then, abruptly, concluded the sale. Gordon had
purchased the farm for thirty-one hundred dollars.

He despatched, in the Courthouse, the necessary formalities. When he
emerged the group on the lawn had dwindled to three people conversing
intently. A young man with heavy shoulders already bowed, clad in
unaccustomed, stiff best clothes, advanced to meet him.

"Mr. Makimmon," he began; "you got my place.... There's none better. I've
put a lot of work into it. I'll--I'll get my things out soon's I can. If
you can give me some time; my wife--"

"I can give you a life," Gordon replied brusquely. He walked past
Alexander Crandall to his wife. She turned her face from him. He said:

"You go back to the Bottom. I've fixed Cannon ... this time. Tell your
husband he can pay me when it suits; the place is yours." He swung on his
heel and strode away.

IV

The fitful wind had, apparently, driven the warmth, the sun, from the
earth. The mountains rose starkly to the slaty sky.

Gordon Makimmon lighted a lamp in the dining room of his dwelling. The
table still bore a red, fringed cloth, but was bare of all else save the
castor, most of the rings of which were empty. The room had a forlorn
appearance, there was dust everywhere; Gordon had pitched the headstall
into a corner, where it lay upon a miscellaneous, untidy pile.

"I reckon you want something to eat," he observed to General Jackson. He
proceeded, followed by the dog, to the kitchen. It revealed an appalling
disorder: the stove was spotted with grease, grey with settled ashes; a
pile of ashes and broken china rose beyond; on the other side coal and
wood had been carelessly stored. A table was laden with unwashed dishes,
unsavory pots, crusted pans.

Gordon stood in the middle of the floor, a lamp in his hand, surveying the
repellent confusion. It had accumulated without attracting his notice; but
now, suddenly detached from the aimless procession of the past months, it
was palpable to him, unendurable. "It's not fit for a dog," he
pronounced.

An expression of determination settled on his seamed countenance; he took
off his coat and hung it on