“Does anybody own that?”
“Yes, there’s a man in Salem owns twelve hundred and eighty acres, and that is part of it.”
“Would he sell it?”
“I suppose so. He has sold a good deal.”
“What would he ask an acre for that part of it?”
“There are no masts or spars on it of any great amount. It’s settling land—hard wood growth. It ought not to bring more than fifteen cents an acre; but he don’t care whether he sells or not, and might ask fifty.”
“Do you know him?”
“Yes, indeed; known him this twenty years. He stopped at my house when he bought that land, and three times as much more. I carried the chain for Squire Eveleth when he run it out.”
“Uncle Isaac, I want a piece of land. You don’t know how much I’ve thought about it! None of my folks ever owned an inch of land. Night and day I have thought and dreamed about it, and I want that, and no other in this world. The moment I came round the point into the cove, and saw the sun shining on the trees, something said to me, That’s your home.”