"Why do you ask?" inquired Linda curiously.
"Oh, because I have heard the name. My grandfather has mentioned him. I believe he knew him, and coming down to this unexplored region, I am naturally reminded of anyone who might have been connected with what I have heard of it."
"Unexplored? Do you mean by yourself?"
"Well, yes, and by some others. I doubt if the majority of those one meets could locate this special town, for instance."
"Anyone who knows anything must have heard of it," said Linda with innocent conviction.
"Oh, I am not disparaging it. In some respects it is the nicest place I ever saw. Tell me something about your home there on Broad Creek."
Linda's eyes grew wistful. "It is the dearest spot on earth. The house is old and low and queer, with rambling rooms that go up a step here, down one there. The water is always in sight, and through the trees you can see the old church; it is on our ground, you know, and there is an old windmill on the place. I should hate to have that old windmill taken away. I used to watch its long arms go around and around when I was a child, and I made up all sorts of tales about it."
"How many acres are there?" Mr. Jeffreys asked the practical question suddenly.
"About two or three hundred. There was another farm. It all belonged to the same estate originally, or at least there were two farms, and ours is the older. My brother brought it up wonderfully, and it is in very good condition now. My father was in ill health for years and when he died his affairs were in a sad state; the farm was not making anything till my brother took hold of it."
"And it is yours?"