mule. Haw there. Haw there, mule. What ye goin’ that side fer; come ‘round here.”

Below the widow’s house, the stream, after its riotous descent from the fall, meandered quietly through the rich bit of meadow and field, her inheritance for over a hundred years, establishing her claim to distinction among her neighbors. Here Martha Caswell had lived with her mother and her two brothers until she married and went with her young husband over “t’other side Pisgah”; then her mother sent for them to return, begging her son-in-law to come and care for the place. Her two sons, reckless and wild, were allowing the land to run to waste, and the buildings to fall in pieces through neglect.

The daughter Martha, true to her name, was thrifty and careful, and