With John Stanchfield and Harold Ormthwaite the exchange of salutations
had been on similar lines. No one but old Nathan Ridge had had the
curiosity to ask: "What you trampin' the eight mile for? Could have took
the train at Marchfield, and got out at the jail door."

"We-ell, the trains didn't just suit. Marchfield's three mile from my
place, and if it comes to trampin' three mile you might as well make it
eight."

"Guess you're pretty nigh tuckered out, ain't you?"

"We-ell, I'm some tired. Been takin' it easy, though. Left home about
eight o'clock last night and just strolled along. Fact is, Nathan, I had
to be out o' my little place last night root and branch, and it's kind
of eased my mind like to be footin' it through the dark."

"Guess you feel pretty bad, don't you?"

"Well, I did. Don't so much now."

"Got used to it?"

"No, it ain't that so much. It's just that if I've suffered, others
will--" But according to Mr. Ridge further explanation was withheld, the
speaker going on disappointingly to say: "Guess I'll be keepin' along.
Hope you'll get your price on them pease. Awful sight of them in the
market after this last dry spell."

So Jasper Fay trudged on. He trudged on patiently, with the ease of a
man accustomed all his life to plodding through the soil, though now and
then he paused. He paused for breath or for a minute's repose, and
sometimes to listen. He listened most frequently to sounds behind him as
if expecting pursuit; he listened to the barking of dogs, the gallop of
grazing horses across the dark pastures, or to the occasional bray of a
motorist's horn. When nothing happened, he went on again, though with
each renewal of the effort his footsteps lagged more wearily.

Dawn was gray by the time he had come face to face with the long, grim
house of sorrow. It was grim unintentionally, grim in spite of
well-meant efforts to cheer it up and make it alluring, at least to the
passer-by. For him ampelopsis had been allowed to clamber over the
red-brick walls; for him a fine piece of lawn was kept neatly cut; for
him the national flag floated during daylight over a grotesque pinnacle;
for him a fountain plashed on feast-days. Neither fountain nor flag nor
sward nor vine was visible except to the outsider, but it was for him
the effect was planned. For him, too, a little common had been set apart
on the other side of the roadway and garnished with a wooden bench under
a noble, fan-shaped elm. Jasp