“I told you I had heard from our cousin, Basil Landray, did I not?”
“Yes, you had just received his letter the last time I saw you in town. Do you know yet when you shall start?”
“As soon as the Ohio is free of ice.”
“That won't be long now.”
“No, I suppose not,” said Stephen absently. “Look here,” he added abruptly. “We've got an offer for the mill.”
“Paxon?” inquired Benson.
“Yes. We find we shall have to let go of something,” said Stephen; there was a shade of embarrassment in his tone, for the subject was an unpleasant one. “And the mill is about the only piece of property we own that we care to part with.”
The mill, a huge structure of stone, had been erected by General Landray, and was said to occupy the site of a building of logs and bark, where almost half a century before had been ground the first corn and wheat grown in the county. Rude as had been this pioneer mill, it had represented the mechanical skill of the entire community. A sugar trough had served as a meal trough; while the stones had been bound with elm bark for the want of a proper metal.
“Well, Paxon is willing to pay ten thousand dollars for the mill,” Stephen continued. “Two thousand down, and the balance secured by his notes. This includes the water rights, and about ninety acres of land, and the miller's house.”
“It goes rather hard with us to let go,” said Bushrod Landray, who had been standing before one of the windows, his glance fixed on the out-of-doors, now he turned on his heel and faced his two companions.