Of all my neighbours, Horace is the nearest.  From the back door of my house, looking over the hill, I can see the two red chimneys of his home, and the top of the windmill.  Horace’s barn and corn silo are more pretentious by far than his house, but fortunately they stand on lower ground, where they are not visible from my side of the hill.  Five minutes’ walk in a straight line across the fields brings me to Horace’s door; by the road it takes at least ten minutes.

In the fall after my arrival I had come to love the farm and its surroundings so much that I decided to have it for my own.  I did not look ahead to being a farmer.  I did not ask Harriet’s advice.  I found myself sitting one day in the justice’s office.  The justice was bald and as dry as corn fodder in March.  He sat with spectacled impressiveness behind his ink-stained table.  Horace hitched his heel on the round of his chair and put his hat on his knee.  He wore his best coat and his hair was brushed in deference to the occasion.  He looked uncomfortable, but important.  I sat opposite him, somewhat overwhelmed by the business in hand.  I felt like an inadequate boy measured against solemnities too large for him.  The processes seemed curiously unconvincing, like a game in which the important part is to keep from laughing; and yet when I thought of laughing I felt cold chills of horror.  If I had laughed at that moment I cannot think what that justice would have said!  But it was a pleasure to have the old man read the deed, looking at me over his spectacles from time to time to make sure I was not playing truant.  There are good and great words in a deed.  One of them I brought away with me from the conference, a very fine, big one, which I love to have out now and again to remind me of the really serious things of life.  It gives me a peculiar dry, legal feeling.  If I am about to enter upon a serious bargain, like the sale of a cow, I am more avaricious if I work with it under my tongue.

Hereditaments!  Hereditaments!

Some words need to be fenced in, pig-tight, so that they cannot escape us; others we prefer to have running at large, indefinite but inclusive.  I would not look up that word for anything:  I might find it fenced in so that it could not mean to me all that it does now.

Hereditaments!  May there be many of them—­or it!

Is it not a fine Providence that gives us different things to love?  In the purchase of my farm both Horace and I got the better of the bargain—­and yet neither was cheated.  In reality a fairly strong lantern light will shine through Horace, and I could see that he was hugging himself with the joy of his bargain; but I was content.  I had some money left—­what more does anyone want after a bargain?—­and I had come into possession of the thing I desired most of all.  Looking at bargains from a purely commercial point of view, someone is always cheated, but looked at with the simple eye both seller and buyer always win.