ridge left between here and the lake! And it's a shabby business,
Jocelyn--a shabby business."

He flung his fowling-piece into the hollow of his left arm and began to
walk up and down the bank.

"This is my land," he said, "and I want no tenants. There were a dozen
farms on the property when it came to me; I gave every tenant a year's
lease, rent free, and when they moved out I gave them their houses to
take down and rebuild outside of my boundary-lines. Do you know any
other man who would do as much?"

Jocelyn was silent.

"As for you," continued Gordon, "you were left in that house because
your wife's grave is there at your very threshold. You have your house
free, you pay no rent for the land, you cut your wood without payment.
My gardener has supplied you with seed, but you never cultivate the
land; my manager has sent you cows, but you sell them."

"One died," muttered Jocelyn.

"Yes--with a cut throat," replied Gordon. "See here, Jocelyn, I don't
expect gratitude or civility from you, but I do expect you to stop
robbing me!"

"Robbing!" repeated Jocelyn, angrily, rising to his feet.

"Yes, robbing! My land is posted, warning people not to shoot or fish or
cut trees. The land, the game, and the forests are mine, and you have no
more right to kill a bird or cut a tree on my property than I have to
enter your house and steal your shoes!"

Gordon's face was flushed now, and he came and stood squarely in front
of Jocelyn. "You rob me," he said, "and you break not only my own
private rules, but also the State laws. You shoot for the market, and
it's a dirty, contemptible thing to do!"

Jocelyn glared at him, but Gordon looked him straight in the eye and
went on, calmly: "You are a law-breaker, and you know it! You snare my
trout, you cover the streams with set-lines and gang-hooks, you get more
partridges with winter grapes and deadfalls than you do with powder and
shot. As long as your cursed poaching served to fill your own stomach I
stood it, but now that you've started wholesale game slaughter for the
market I am going to stop the whole thing."

The two men faced each other in silence for a moment; then Jocelyn said:
"Are you going to tear down my house?"

Gordon did not answer. It was what he wanted to do, but he looked at the
gaunt, granite headstone in the door-yard, then dropped the butt of his
gun to the dead sod again. "Can't you be decent, Jocelyn?" he asked,
harshly.

Jocelyn was silent.