“Forty miles,” replied the doctor.
“But suppose that is deserted, the same as this?”
“Then we shall be quite a hundred from the next.”
“A hundred,” said Griggs dryly. “Well, that seems horribly close and crowding one up like after living as we’ve been lately. It seems to me that if we liked to stop here now we might have the pick of the whole place, and as many patches as we like to take up.”
“What about the old owners?” said Bourne.
“They’ve thrown up the game and gone—back to England, perhaps. I don’t believe any one is ever likely to put in claims, but we could soon get that settled by the State law. I’ve nearly made up my mind to start afresh, doctor. You see, everything is going to be quite different; but there’s one thing I can’t understand. Climates don’t change all at once, but here’s this place boiling over, as one might say, with plenty now, while a few years ago we were only able to grow enough to feed the insects and blight. How do you account for that?”
“I can only give you what I surmise to be the case,” replied the doctor. “We were tempted here by seeing how beautiful and fruitful everything was.”
“Yes; everything but what we planted, and that tried to die out of the way as fast as it could. Well, sir, how was that?”
“Simply because the things we planted were strange to the land. All they wanted was time—years in which to root down to the best soil. If we had waited longer they would have appeared as good as they are now.”
“That sounds well, sir,” said Griggs, “and I should like to hear a little more about it, but I think we’ve got as much to think about as we can bear to-night. What say you?”