y live to be a hundred and fifty." And the heart of this old
woman was deeply stirred by Milford, not by his misfortunes, his
homelessness, the touch of the adventurous vagabond in his face, but by
her belief that he possessed an unconquerable spirit.

"Yes, you keep still, and we'll arrange it all in time," she said, as
they entered the hickory grove. "And you needn't tell me anythin' about
yourself, nuther. A man's never so big a liar as when he's tellin'
things about himself or his enemy. It seems that he can't tell the truth
about either one. So you keep still. It's most too late in the season
for you to do very much now in the way of plantin', but you can make a
good beginnin'. There's stuff enough in the cottage back yonder, and you
may take possession to-morrow if you want to. There's a fellow named Bob
Mitchell around here that's out of work, and you can hire him to help
you. He's a good hand to work--the only trouble is, he thinks he's
smart. But he'll follow if there's any one to lead."

"Madam, I wish I knew how to thank you," said Milford, as he opened the
gate leading into the main road. "I came without an introduction,
without a single letter----"

"Don't you dare come fetchin' any of your letters to me! There ain't
nothin' much easier than to write a lie."

"I'm not going in now. I'll walk about a while."

"Do as you like," she replied. "Your room's at the end up there," she
added, pointing. She went into the house, and he turned back into the
grove. He sat down with his back against a tree, his hat on the ground.
He muttered words to himself; he felt the cool air upon his moist brow;
he breathed the perfume of the fresh night.

CHAPTER III.

INTERESTED IN HIM.

Milford took possession of the farm-cottage. The terms were so
loose-jointed that the neighbors lamented the old woman's lack of
business sense. She told them to keep still. She said that for years she
had been following the advice of a lawyer, and that every string of her
affairs had come untied. Now she was going to act for herself. It was
hinted that her methods would reflect discredit upon the practical sense
of the community. She replied that she paid her own taxes.

On the old farm there was a sprout of new life. At break of day the
dozing idler heard a song afield; the hired man, going to milk the cows,
the city man, snapping his watch, hastening to catch a train, saw the
Westerner working, wet with dew. And when the eveni