“You will be obliged to, for want of chairs at present,” said Elizabeth, jumping up and insisting on being allowed to help. What a new atmosphere it was! Here they were, off in the “wilds” and their own wilds at that, with all sorts of happy experiences before them.
Dalton, whistling a popular song went about hither and yon, gathering a supply of wood, lopping off undesirable portions of old limbs here and there. Looking up at a sound, he was surprised to see a rough-looking man approaching him. He was ill-featured, dark, grim, and of stalwart build. Dalton, rather glad of his hatchet, stood his ground, waiting to be addressed.
“What are you folks doing here?” the man demanded.
“This is our land, sir,” replied Dalton, “and we have just come to camp here for the summer.” He felt like adding, “any objections?” but thought that he would not be the one to start any trouble by impertinence. He did not like the man’s tone, however.
“How do we know that you own this land? I’d not heard of its being sold.”
“It can easily be proved. Our name is Secrest. My father bought this several years ago.”
“Is your father here?”
“Well, excuse me, sir, would you prefer to ask your questions of my father? Are you the mayor of the village?”
“No; but any of us have a right to know what strangers are going to do.”
“Perhaps you have, sir,” said Dalton, in a more friendly way, “but it’s a free country, you know, and we own this piece of ground. I’m expecting to camp here all summer, and to build a more permanent home, or start one, for our summers here.”