"I don't want to turn you out," said Gordon. "Can't you let my game
alone? Come, let's start again; shall we? I'll send Banks down to-morrow
with a couple of cows and a crate or two of chickens, and Murphy shall
bring you what seeds you want for late planting--"

"To hell with your seeds!" roared Jocelyn, in a burst of fury. "To hell
with your cows and your Murphys and your money and yourself, you loafing
millionaire! Do you think I want to dig turnips any more than you do? I
was born free in a free land before you were born at all! I hunted these
swales and fished these streams while you were squalling for your pap!"

With blazing eyes the ragged fellow shook his fist at Gordon, cursing
him fiercely, then with a violent gesture he pointed at the ground under
his feet: "Let those whose calling is to dig, dig!" he snarled. "I've
turned my last sod!"

Except that Gordon's handsome face had grown a little white under the
heavy coat of tan, he betrayed no emotion as he said: "You are welcome
to live as you please--under the law. But if you fire one more shot on
this land I shall be obliged to ask you to go elsewhere."

"Keep your ears open, then!" shouted Jocelyn, "for I'll knock a
pillowful of feathers out of the first partridge I run over!"

"Better not," said Gordon, gravely.

Jocelyn hitched up his weather-stained trousers and drew his leather
belt tighter. "I told you just now," he said, "that I'd never turn
another sod. I'll take that back."

"I am glad to hear it," said Gordon, pleasantly.

"Yes," continued Jocelyn, with a grim gesture, "I'll take it back. You
see, I buried my wife yonder, and I guess I'm free to dig up what I
planted. And I'll do it."

After a pause he added: "Tear the house down. I'm done with it. I guess
I can find room somewhere underground for her, and a few inches on top
of the ground for me to sit down on."

"Don't talk like that," said Gordon, reddening to the roots of his hair.
"You are welcome to the house and the land, and you know it. I only ask
you to let my game alone."

"Your game?" retorted Jocelyn. "They're wild creatures, put there by Him
who fashioned them."

"Nonsense!" said Gordon, dryly. "My land is my own. Would you shoot the
poultry in my barn-yard?"

"If I did," cried Jocelyn, with eyes ablaze, "I'd not be in your debt,
young man. You are walking on my father's land. Ask _your_ father why!
Yes, go back to the city and hunt him up at his millionaire's club and