"We might as well git them done while it's rainin'," Jake had said, "an' there's nuthin' else we kin do this mornin'."
Douglas turned the stone while Jake did the grinding. He was not new to the job, as he had often done it as a boy. Then, it had been a wearisome task, and it seemed to him that the hired man always pressed as hard as he could upon the stone. But now he enjoyed the task, as it was a change from the pitching of hay.
"Have you many near neighbours?" he presently asked.
"Yes, a few," was the reply. "Sandy Barker lives below me, and Caleb Titus jist above. Of course, there's the corner with a whole bunch of houses. It's pretty well settled all along the river."
"Has Caleb Titus much of a family?"
"Naw. Jist himself an' one daughter, Polly."
"Has he a large farm?"
"Not overly large; though he doesn't attend to it. He works in the woods in the winter time, an' scratches the ground a little in the spring, an' tries to raise something, though he doesn't succeed very well. He sold a piece off the front of his place a few years ago to old Andy Strong, an' got a good price for it, so I heard."
"Who is this man Strong?" Douglas enquired.
Jake lifted the scythe from the stone and felt its edge very carefully with his thumb before answering. He seemed to be pondering something, and a peculiar smile lurked about the corners of his mouth.