The tall man with the kindly face crossed the dooryard and approached Emmeline.
"Well, sissy," he drawled, "and who may you be?"
A variety of emotions almost suffocated Emmeline. Uppermost was hatred of that particular form of address.
"I am Emmeline Willing," said she, with dignity.
Men left their piles of sticks and crowded to the fence; others, who were going on errands, made a détour in order to come a little nearer to the group.
"And who," drawled the tall man, "who may Emmyline Willing be?"
Emmeline saw the thickening crowd and remembered the dull roar that had ceased only a little while ago. She grew pale, but she answered bravely:—
"I am the granddaughter of the owner of this place."
"So-o-o! And where may the owner of this place be?"
"He has gone away." Emmeline's courage was failing. She felt the cooler air of evening and saw the shadows lengthening as the sun sank behind the woodland. "My grandfather would not wish you to be here. You ought to go away."