I-VII

A smooth, conical hill rose sharply to the
left, momentarily shutting out the valley;
and beyond, at the foot of a steep declivity,
stood the Makimmon dwelling. Originally a four-square,
log house, the logs had been covered by
boards, and to its present, irregular length, one room
in width, had been added an uneven roofed porch
broadside on a narrow lip of sod by a wide, shallow
stream. An indifferent stand of corn held precariously
to the sharp slope from the public road; an
unkempt cow grazed the dank sod by a primitive
well sweep; a heap of tin cans, bright or rusted, their
fading paper labels loose and littering the grass, had
been untidily accumulated at a back door.

Gordon passed about the end of his dwelling to
the side that faced the water. A wave of hot air, a
heavy, greasy odor and the sputtering of boiling
fat, swept out from the kitchen. He filled a tin
basin on the porch from a convenient bucket of
water, and made a hasty toilet.

Clare paused at the door, a long handled spoon
in her attenuated grasp; she was an emaciated
woman of thirty, with prominent cheek bones, a

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v?