“Don’t take the big lovely ones, Dal,” said Leslie.
“No, I’ll not. I shall select the trees with less symmetrical limbs or placed where thinning out will be good.”
“Do you know all about old-fashioned ‘log-raising,’ Dal?” Sarita asked.
“No, I don’t know ‘all’ about anything, Sairey, but this man helps build the new-fangled log houses that they have in the north woods, so I have hopes. There! That’s finished!”
“Look, Dal,” suddenly Leslie said in a low voice, and Dalton turned to see a gentleman riding among the trees and coming toward them.
The little camp had been placed back a short distance in the grove, where a more open space occurred, with smaller trees and bushes. It had pleased Elizabeth here, though she said that she was being cut off from a view of the sea. But it was better so, more retired, and the smaller trees were, safer neighbors in a storm than the tall ones. Lovely ferns, vines entwining the trees, and wild flowers grew about them.
Beth was in the tent, still straightening and unpacking but the three outside watched the pretty horse and its straight rider. The gentleman dismounted, fastened the horse to a tree, and walked toward them.
“Good morning,” he said, and the young people returned the greeting. Everything was in perfect taste about the riding costume, Leslie noticed. The gentleman rather nervously flexed a small whip in his gloved hands and looked sharply with keen black eyes from one to another, addressing Dalton in particular. “I am told that you have purchased this place and are about to build a house of some sort upon it.”
“Yes, sir. My father bought the ground something over two years ago.”
“Are you sure that the purchase was completed?”