They went back to Larkland mill that had been a mill ever since The Village had been a village; crossed a foot bridge over Tinkling Water; and followed the path to the woodland nook they called Happy Acres. Long ago a house had been there, and persistent garden bulbs and shrubs gave beauty and fragrance to the place. One spring, Anne had adopted it and christened it Happy Acres, and she and her friends had made it a little woodland park that was a joy to all the neighborhood. It was fragrant now with a blossoming plum-tree and gay with the pink and scarlet of flowering almond and japonica.
Anne and Patsy plucked a few sprays to carry home the beauty of it, and started down the path for a little visit to their cousin, Giles Spotswood, the miller.
Patsy, who was in front, stopped suddenly. “What’s that?� she whispered.
“It sounds like men quarreling,� Anne whispered back. “Who on earth—�
“Look there!�
Anne crept to Patsy’s side and peeped through the bushes. There were two men on the roadside. One was their cousin, Black Mayo Osborne.
“Who’s that man?� asked Anne.
“Mr. Smith; the new man at the Tolliver place.�
“Ugh! he’s horrid! snarling like a spiteful cur dog!� exclaimed Anne.
The stranger was indeed odd and unpleasant-looking. He had long loose-jointed limbs and such a short body that it seemed as if its only function was to hold his head and limbs together. The two sides of his blond face were quite unlike. The left side was handsome with its straight brow and wide blue eye; but the right eye, half hidden by its drooping lid, slanted outward and down, the tip of the nose turned toward the bulging right nostril, and the mouth drooped at the right corner and ended in a heavy downward line.