of the
group to listen. Sometimes he thought that if he were lying dead under
six feet of turf and Sara Stuart's name were pronounced above him, his
heart would give a bound of life.

"Yes, the old kunnel's gone at last," Christopher Jackson was saying.
"He took his time dyin', that's sartain. Must be a kind of relief for
Sara--she's had to wait on him, hand and foot, for years. But no doubt
she'll feel pretty lonesome. Wonder what she'll do?"

"Is there any particular reason for her to do anything?" asked Alec
Churchill.

"Well, she'll have to leave Pinehurst. The estate's entailed and goes
to her cousin, Charles Stuart."

There were exclamations of surprise from the other men on hearing
this. Jeffrey drew nearer, absently patting his dog's head. He had not
known it either.

"Oh, yes," said Christopher, enjoying all the importance of exclusive
information. "I thought everybody knew that. Pinehurst goes to the
oldest male heir. The old kunnel felt it keen that he hadn't a son. Of
course, there's plenty of money and Sara'll get that. But I guess
she'll feel pretty bad at leaving her old home. Sara ain't as young as
she used to be, neither. Let me see--she must be thirty-eight. Well,
she's left pretty lonesome."

"Maybe she'll stay on at Pinehurst," said Job Crowe. "It'd only be
right for her cousin to give her a home there."

Christopher shook his head.

"No, I understand they're not on very good terms. Sara don't like
Charles Stuart or his wife--and I don't blame her. She won't stay
there, not likely. Probably she'll go and live in town. Strange she
never married. She was reckoned handsome, and had plenty of beaus at
one time."

Jeffrey swung out of the group and started homeward with his dog. To
stand by and hear Sara Stuart discussed after this fashion was more
than he could endure. The men idly watched his tall, erect figure as
he went along the valley.

"Queer chap, Jeff," said Alec Churchill reflectively.

"Jeff's all right," said Christopher in a patronizing way. "There
ain't a better man or neighbour alive. I've lived next farm to him for
thirty years, so I ought to know. But he's queer sartainly--not like
other people--kind of unsociable. He don't care for a thing 'cept dogs
and reading and mooning round woods and fields. That ain't natural,
you know. But I must say he's a good farmer. He's got the best farm in
Bayside, and that's a real nice house he put up on it. Ain't it an odd
thing he never