side of the table, so to speak, and the
lake was in front of him. The lake was becoming a vital feature in the
new environment.

The water was ruffled now; the reflections trembled and the lapping
was more insistent.

The food was excellent. Aunt Polly had prepared it and watched, with a
true artist's eye, her guest's appreciation of it.

"Food is just food to some folks," she confided, casting a slantwise
glance at her brother, "just what you might call fodder. But I allas
have held that, viewed rightly, it feeds body _and_ soul."

Heathcote chuckled.

"And right you are, Aunt Polly!" Northrup said, watching the effect of
his familiarity. Nothing occurred. He was being taken for granted.

Bits of history crept into the easy conversation during the meal.
Apparently meal-time was a function at the inn, not an episode.

Heathcote and his sister, it appeared, had come to King's Forest for
his health, fifty years before. He was twenty then; Aunt Polly
eighteen.

"Just like silly pioneers," Polly broke in, "but we found health and
work and we grew to love the place. We feel toward it as one does to
an adopted child, less understanding, but more responsible. Every once
so often, when we got into ruts, God Almighty made us realize that He
was keeping His hand on the reins," the dear old soul chuckled
happily. "Peter got himself made into a magistrate and that was
something to work with. We made a home and friends, but the Forest
isn't an easy proposition. It ain't changed much. It's lazy and rough,
and I often tell Peter that the place is like two old folks over on
the Point, Twombley and Peneluna. Still and scroogy, but keeping up a
mighty lot of thinking. If anything ever wakes the Forest up it's
going to show what it's been cogitating about."

"Is there a village?" Northrup asked.

"There's one seven miles from here," Heathcote replied; "stores, post
office, a Methodist minister--necessary evils, you know," this came
with a fat chuckle, "but the Forest ain't anything but the Forest.
Houses sorter dropped down carelesslike where someone's fancy fixed
'em. There used to be a church and school. The school burned down; the
church, half finished, stands like a hint for better living, on a
little island a half mile down the line. There's the Point where the
folks live as can't get a footing elsewhere. There's always a Point or
a Hollow, you know. And there's the Mines, back some miles to the
south. Iron that used to