rugged draw. I found that I remembered
the conformation of the land as one remem-
bers the modeling of human faces.
When I drew up to our old windmill, the
Widow Steavens came out to meet me. She
was brown as an Indian woman, tall, and very
strong. When I was little, her massive head
had always seemed to me like a Roman sena-
tor's. I told her at once why I had come.
"You'll stay the night with us, Jimmy?
I'll talk to you after supper. I can take more
interest when my work is off my mind.
You've no prejudice against hot biscuit for
supper? Some have, these days."
While I was putting my horse away I heard
a rooster squawking. I looked at my watch
and sighed; it was three o'clock, and I knew
that I must eat him at six.
After supper Mrs. Steavens and I went
upstairs to the old sitting-room, while her
grave, silent brother remained in the base-
ment to read his farm papers. All the win-
dows were open. The white summer moon
was shining outside, the windmill was pump-
ing lazily in the light breeze. My hostess
put the lamp on a stand in the corner, and
turned it low because of the heat. She sat
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