n all directions," directed
Wallingford briefly.

"All right," said Bob with a click to the little horses, and
clattering out of the door they turned to the right, away from the
broad, shady street of old maples, and were almost at once in the
country. For a mile or two there were gently undulating farms of rich,
black loam, and these Wallingford inspected in careful turn.

"Seems to be good land about here," he observed.

"Best in the world," said the youngster. "Was you thinkin' of buyin'
a farm?"

Wallingford smiled and shook his head.

"I scarcely think so," he replied.

"'Twouldn't do you any good if you was," retorted Bob. "There ain't a
farm hereabouts for sale."

To prove it, he pointed out the extent of each farm, gave the name of
its owner and told how much he was worth, to all of which Wallingford
listened most intently.

They had been driving to the east, but, coming to a fork in the road
leading to the north, Bob took that turning without instructions,
still chattering his local Bradstreet. Along this road was again rich
and smiling farm land, but Wallingford, seeming throughout the drive
to be eagerly searching for something, evinced a new interest when
they came to a grove of slender, straight-trunked trees.

"Old man Mescott gets a hundred gallons of maple syrup out of that
grove every spring," said Bob in answer to a query. "He gets two
dollars a gallon, then he stays drunk till plumb the middle of summer.
Was you thinkin' of buyin' a maple grove?"

Wallingford looked back in thoughtful speculation, but ended by
shaking his head, more to himself than to Bob.

They passed through a woods.

"Good timber land, that," suggested Wallingford.

"Good timber land! I should say it was," said Bob. "There's nigh a
hundred big walnut trees back in there a ways, to say nothing of
all the fine oak an' hick'ry, but old man Cass won't touch an ax
to nothing but underbrush. He says he's goin' to will 'em to his
grandchildren, and by the time they grow up it'll be worth their
weight in money. Was you thinkin' of buyin' some timber land?"

Wallingford again hesitated over that question, but finally stated
that he was not.

"Here's the north road back into town," said Bob, as they came to a
cross-road, and as they gained the top of the elevation they could
look down and see, a mile or so away, the little town, its gray roofs
and red chimneys peeping from out its sheltering of green leaves.
Just beyond