“I don’t belong around here either, and I’m mighty glad of it.”
“Why, what’s the matter?” John asked.
“It’s so darn lonesome. That’s what’s the matter. Nothin’ but woods, with now and then a farm kinder lost in it. Nothin’ goin’ on. Everything draggin’ along slow as this old ox-team. I’ve hired out to Deacon Hawes for the season, but I shan’t stay more’n my time out. You’re campin’ up round here, ain’t ye? Allen’s boy brought ye up last night, so I heard. Mebbe I’ll drop in and see ye this evenin’. We’ve got some sweet-corn just ripenin’ down at the place that might taste good to ye.”
THE VILLAGE ON THE HILL
The campers told him they would be glad to see him, and said that they expected to be near La Fay’s, at the falls. They took the road he had indicated. It led through a dense young forest. The trees interwove their branches overhead so closely that the sunshine with difficulty penetrated the foliage to fleck the damp depths below with its patches of light. A short walk brought them out of the woods into a good-sized clearing sloping down into a wooded valley. Down the hill was a long, squarish house, one end entirely unfinished, and brown with age and decay. The rest had at some remote period been painted white. In front was a row of maples, beneath which a calf was tied. Opposite the house was a weatherworn barn, and behind it a small shed with a chimney at one end. The big barn-doors were open, and Mr. La Fay was just rolling out his hay-wagon. He was apparently about thirty-five years of age—a handsome, powerfully built man, square headed and strong jawed. He wore a mustache, had dark, curly hair, and a pair of clear, gray eyes, which looked straight at one and that held sparks which could easily flash into fire. The boys stated their errand, and La Fay told them to choose any place they pleased for their tent and go ahead. He could furnish them milk, and a horse occasionally if they wanted to drive.
“You are close by the falls if you go over there beyond that piece of woods.” he said; “and from our hill here you can see half the world.”
A MILL IN THE VALLEY
He took them out on the ridge beyond the barn. It was indeed a beautiful piece of country—mowing-lots and orchards and pastures close about, a broken valley far below, where a little stream here and there glinted in the sunshine, and, bounding the horizon, many great, forest-clad hills. Here and there were far-away glimpses of hilltop villages, of which La Fay gave them the names and the number of miles they were distant. The boys were delighted.