"It's all sand and gravel," he said; "but I'd hate to leave it."

It was curious, but not until that very moment had he been at all aware
of any real affection for Crofield. He was only dimly aware of it
then, and he forgot it all to answer a hail from two men under the
clump of giant trees which had so nearly wrecked the miller's wagon.

The men had been looking up at the trees, and Jack heard part of what
they said about them, as he came near. They had called him to talk
about his trout-fishing, but they had aroused his curiosity upon
another subject.

"Mr. Bannerman," he said, as soon as he had an opportunity between
"fish" questions, "did you say you'd give a hundred dollars for those
trees, just as they stand? What are they good for?"

"Jack," exclaimed the sharp-looking man he spoke to, "don't you tell
anybody I said that. You won't, will you? Come, now, didn't I treat
you well while you were in my shop?"

"Yes, you did," said Jack, "but you kept me there only four months.
What are those trees good for? You don't use anything but pine."

"Why, Jack," said Bannerman, "it isn't for carpenter work. Three of
'em are curly maples, and that one there's the straightest-grained,
biggest, cleanest old cherry! They're for j'iner-work, Jack. But you
said you wouldn't tell?"

"I won't tell," said Jack. "Old Hammond owns 'em. I stayed in your
shop just long enough to learn the carpenter's trade. I didn't learn
j'iner-work. Don't you want me again?"

"Not just now, Jack; but Sam and I've got a bargain coming with
Hammond, and he owes us some, now, and you mustn't put in and spile the
trade for us. I'll do ye a good turn, some day. Don't you tell."

Jack promised again and the carpenters walked away, leaving him looking
up at the trees and thinking how it would seem to see them topple over
and come crashing down into the Cocahutchie, to be made up into chairs
and tables. Just as long as he could remember anything he had seen the
old trees standing guard there, summer and winter, leafy or bare, and
they were like old friends to him.

"I'll go home," he said, at last. "There hasn't been a house built in
Crofield for years and years. It isn't any kind of place for
carpentering, or for anything else that I know how to do."

Then he took a long, silent, thoughtful look up stream, and another
down stream, and instead of the gravel and bushes and grass, in one
direction, and the rickety bridge and the sl