t not a very great
distance a slight hilly elevation bounded the horizon line, which
nearer seen would have been found bristling with stern grey rock,
itself a ridge of rock, one of the ribs of the rigid soil. But where
the lane led down to the water, fair fields and crops extended on every
side, spotted very picturesquely with clumps of woodland. All looked
genial in the summer light. If the distant rocks spoke a stubborn soil,
the fine growth between said that man had overcome it; and the fine
order everywhere apparent said too that the victory had been effectual
for man's comfort and prosperity. The stone walls, in some places thin
and open, told of times when they had been hurriedly put up; moss on
the rail fences said the rails had been long doing duty; within them no
fields failed of their crops, and no crops wanted hoeing or weeding. No
straw lay scattered about the ricks; no barrack roofs were tumbling
down; no gate-posts stood sideways; no barnyards shewed rickety
outhouses or desolate mangers. No cattle were poor, and seemingly, no
people. It was a pretty ride the party had, in the little wagon, behind
an old horse that knew every inch of the way and trotted on as if he
were a part of it.

"How do you like Pattaquasset, Mr. Linden?" said Faith, leaning forward
to reach him where he sat alone on the front seat.

"I like it--well," he answered a little musingly.

They came to the bridge and stream; and now they could see that Awasee
River did not fill its sometime channel, but flowed in a bottom of
alluvial soil, rich in bright-coloured marsh grass, which stretched up
the country between two of those clumps of woodland they had seen from
a distance. A little further on, just where the sandy road branched off
to the shore, there stood a farm house, with a conglomerate of barns
and outhouses, all painted to match, in bright yellow picked out with
red.

"Do you see that settlement of farm-houses?" said Faith, leaning
forward again,--"of all sizes, in uniform?"

"Is it the fashion here to put 'earmarks' on buildings?" he answered
with a smile.

"Mr. Linden! You should ask Mr. Simlins that. I see his wagon
there--he'll be down at the shore very likely. He's a character. He
lives a mile and a half further on, just where the road turns off to
Mrs. Somers'."

"Simlins!" was the only reply.

"He's a good sort of man, but he's funny."

"What is a good sort of man, Miss Faith?"

The old horse was walking quie