rees or brushwood. Rough, stubbly grass covered a
good deal of the sand, but here and there the wind had swept it up into
great piles round some obstacle that broke the level, and on these
sand-hills wild vines grew luxuriantly, covering them in many places
with thick and graceful foliage, and small purple clusters of grapes.
There were pools, too, in some places, where water-lilies had managed to
plant themselves, and where colonies of mud-turtles lived undisturbed;
and there were shady places by the sides of the pools, where the brown
pitcher-plant held its cups of clear water, and the ghost-flower
glimmered spectrally among the dead leaves of last year. But the plain
generally was hot and sunny in summer, and very dreary in winter; for
the larger trees which grew upon it were oaks, and when they were bare
of foliage, and the sand-hills and the pools had a deep covering of
snow, the wind swept icily cold over its wide space. In September the
oaks were still in leaf, and the grass green, and, though they were but
stunted in size and coarse in texture, both were pleasant to look at.
The sunshine was no longer hot, but it was serenely bright, and there
was as lovely a blue overhead as if the equinox were months away.

A light waggon came winding in and out with the turnings of the
road--now crossing a wooden bridge, now passing through the shadows of a
dozen or more oaks which grew close together. Sometimes, when the ground
was clear, the waggon went straight through one of these groups.
Sometimes it turned aside, to avoid the thick brushwood underneath. The
"waggon," which was neither more nor less than a large tray placed upon
four wheels, and having a seat for two people, was occupied by two young
men, Harry Scott and George Anderson. They were coming down from their
homes, two farms which lay close together some little distance up the
lake, and were going first to the sawmill and then to the town. But they
were in no particular hurry, and the afternoon was pleasant, so they let
their horse take his own time, and came jogging over the sand at a most
leisurely pace.

They had passed that very piece of land which had given Dr. Morton so
much trouble lately; it was natural enough, therefore, that their chat
should turn to speculations as to his success in ejecting Clarkson from
his house, and the Indians from their fisheries.

"More trouble than it's worth," said George Anderson; "there is not a
tree on the land that w