we join in making
better roads and better schools, and building up the Scotch Preacher's
friendly little church. And in all these things Old Toombs has never had
a part. He is not even missed.

As a matter of fact, I reflected, and this is a strange, deep thing, no
man is in reality more dependent upon the community which he despises
and holds at arm's length than this same Old Nathan Toombs. Everything
he has, everything he does, gives evidence of it. And I don't mean this
in any mere material sense, though of course his wealth and his farm
would mean no more than the stones in his hills to him if he did not
have us here around him. Without our work, our buying, our selling, our
governing, his dollars would be dust. But we are still more necessary
to him in other ways: the unfriendly man is usually the one who
demands most from his neighbours. Thus, if he have not people's love or
confidence, then he will smite them until they fear him, or admire him,
or hate him. Oh, no man, however may try, can hold himself aloof!

I came home deeply stirred from my visit with Old Toombs and lost no
time in making further inquiries. I learned, speedily, that there was
indeed something in the old man's dread of a road being built through
his farm. The case was already in the courts. His farm was a very old
one and extensive, and of recent years a large settlement of small
farmers had been developing the rougher lands in the upper part of the
townships called the Swan Hill district. Their only way to reach the
railroad was by a rocky, winding road among the 'hills,' while their
outlet was down a gently sloping valley through Old Toombs's farm. They
were now so numerous and politically important that they had stirred up
the town authorities. A proposition had been made to Old Toombs for
a right-of-way; they argued with him that it was a good thing for the
whole country, that it would enhance the values of his own upper lands,
and that they would pay him far more for a right-of-way than the land
was actually worth, but he had spurned them--I can imagine with what
vehemence.

"Let 'em drive round," he said. "Didn't they know what they'd have to do
when they settled up there? What a passel o' curs! They can keep off o'
my land, or I'll have the law on 'em."

And thus the matter came to the courts with the town attempting to
condemn the land for a road through Old Toombs's farm.

"What can we do?" asked the Scotch Preacher, who was d