eat house on the old foundations; but these brick walls
defied the tooth of time.

Magnificent walls they were, four feet in thickness, heavily
buttressed; the bricks set in mortar tougher than themselves. They
enclosed two acres of rich black soil at the mouth of Inniscaw's one
valley, where it widens into a marsh beside the shore. Between them and
the water's edge stood the Lord Proprietor's new schoolhouse, above a
small landing quay; and within the schoolhouse a class was singing as
Sir Caesar and Mr. Pope entered the old garden. The children's voices
came floating prettily over the old wall--so prettily that Abe Jenkins,
the septuagenarian gardener, ceased working to comment upon it, leaning
on his hoe and addressing Eli Tregarthen, who lounged by the gateway
leading to the shore.

"Always fond of children, I was," said Abe Jenkins, "though I never
picked up courage to marry. 'Twas the women that always daunted me. And
now I've a-come to a time o' life that I'm glad of it. A married man
throws his roots too deep, an' when Death come along, 'tis always too
soon for 'en. He wants to bide and see his youngest da'rter's child, or
he wants to linger and mend a thatch on the linhay--his married son
can't be brought to see the importance o't.... What with one thing and
another, I never knowed a married man yet 'was fit to die; whereas your
cheerful bachelor comes up clean as a carrot. What brings you across
from Saaron to-day, Tregarthen? I'll wage 'tis to fetch your children
back from school."

"Partly," assented Eli.

"Iss; partly, that, an' to listen here to their voices soundin' so
pretty across the wall. And partly, I reckon, 'tis on the chance to get
speech with the Lord Proprietor and persuade 'em to let you bide on
Saaron. But that you'll never do. Mind, I'm not sayin' a word against
th' old curmudgeon. He's my employer, to start with, besides being what
God made 'em. But, reason? You might as well try reason on the hind leg
of a jackass. Go thy ways home, Tregarthen: go thy ways home an' teach
yourself that all this world and the kingdoms thereof be but what the
mind o' man makes 'em, and Saaron itself but a warren for rabbits."

Tregarthen shook his head.

"A barren rock.... Come now, bring your mind to it!" Abe suggested,
coaxing.

"'Tis no good, Abe."

"A cottage in a vineyard--what says holy Isaiah? A lodge in a garden of
cucumbers--a besieged city----"

"Abe Jenkins!"--It was the Lord Proprietor'