tains. They look big and open and free,
but Greenstream's the littlest, meanest place on the earth. The
paper-shavers own the sky and air. Well, I'll let the ground rot, I won't
work my guts out for any one else."

He turned sharply and disappeared about the corner of the dwelling. Gordon
moved to watch him stride up the slope to where a horse was tied by the
public road. Crandall swung himself into the saddle, brought his heels
savagely into the horse's sides, and clattered over the road.

Gordon Makimmon's annoyance quickly evaporated; he thought with a measure
of amusement of the impetuous young man who was not content to grow a crop
of fodder. If the men of Greenstream all resembled Edgar Crandall, he
realized, the Cannons would have an uneasy time. He thought of the
brother, Alexander, of Alexander's wife, who resembled Lettice, and
determined to drive soon to the Bottom and see them and the farm. He would
have to make a practicable arrangement with regard to the latter, secure
his intention, avoid question, by a nominal scheme of payment.

VII

He knew, generally, where Alexander Crandall's farm lay; and, shortly
after, drove through the village and mounted the road over which plied the
Stenton stage. In the Bottom, beyond the east range, he went to the right
and passed over an ill-defined way with numerous and deep fords. It was
afternoon; an even, sullen expanse of cloud hid the deeps of sky through
which the sun moved like a newly-minted silver dollar. A sharp wind drew
through the opening; the fallen leaves rose from the road in sudden,
agitated whirling; the gaunt branches, printed sharply on the curtain of
cloud, revealed the deserted nests of past springs.

He drove by solitary farms, their acres lying open and dead among the
brush; and stopped, undecided, before a fenced clearing that swept back to
the abrupt wall of the range, against which a low house was scarcely
distinguishable from the sere, rocky ascent. Finally he drove in, over a
faintly marked track, past a corner of the fence railed about a trough for
sheep shearing, to the house. A pine tree stood at either side of the
large, uncut stone at the threshold; except for a massive exterior chimney
the somberly painted frame structure was without noticeable feature.

He discovered immediately from the youthful feminine figure awaiting him
at the door that he was not at fault. Mrs. Crandall's face radiated her
pleasure.

"Mr. Makimmon!"