On the shadowed side of the stand the leading men of the grange gathered, consulting about plans and measures.
"Now, it seems to me that we're going on all right now," said Deering. "We're getting our goods cheap and we're cuttin' off the middleman."
"And we're getting hold of the railways."
"Yes, but it don't amount to nothin' compared to what ought to be done. We ought 'o oust them infernal blood-suckers that's in our court-house, and we want to do it as a grange."
"No," said Jennings in his placid way, "we can do that better. I've got a plan."
"What we want," said Hobkirk, "is a party, a ticket of our own, then we can"—
"No, we can't do that. It won't be right to do that. We must stand by the party that has given us our railway legislation."
Milton and several of the younger farmers drew off one side and talked earnestly about the fall campaign.
"They'll beat us again unless we go in together," Milton said with emphatic gesticulation. Milton was a natural politician. His words found quick response in the erratic Hobkirk, who had good ideas but whose temperament made all his words jagged shot. He irritated where he meant to convince.
Bradley listened to it all without feeling that he had any part in it. It didn't seem to him that politics had anything to do with the beautiful words of the girl. On the stand the choir began to sing again and he walked toward them. They sang on and the people listened while they packed away the dishes. They sang "Auld Lang Syne," and "We'll Meet Beyond the River," with that characteristic attraction of the common people for wistful, sorrowful cadences which is a paradox not easily explained.