And his face, when he was silent, fell into sorrowful and troubled lines.

At first they merely marvelled.  Then Squire Buckalew dared to tempt him.  Eskew’s faded eyes showed a blue gleam, but he withstood, speaking of Babylon to the disparagement of Chicago.  They sought to lead him into what he evidently would not, employing many devices; but the old man was wily and often carried them far afield by secret ways of his own.  This hot morning he had done that thing:  they were close upon him, pressing him hard, when he roused that outburst which had stirred the idlers on the benches in the Court-house yard.  Squire Buckalew (sidelong at the others but squarely at Eskew) had volunteered the information that Cory was a reformed priest.  Stung by the mystery of Eskew’s silence, the Squire’s imagination had become magically gymnastic; and if anything under heaven could have lifted the veil, this was the thing.  Mr. Arp’s reply may be reverenced.

“I consider,” he said, deliberately, “that James G. Blaine’s furrin policy was childish, and, what’s more, I never thought much of him!”

This outdefied Ajax, and every trace of the matter in hand went to the four winds.  Eskew, like Rome, was saved by a cackle, in which he joined, and a few moments later, as the bench loafers saw, was pulled down into his seat by the Colonel.

The voices of the fathers fell to the pitch of ordinary discourse; the drowsy town was quiet again; the whine of the planing-mill boring its way through the sizzling air to every wakening ear.  Far away, on a quiet street, it sounded faintly, like the hum of a bee across a creek, and was drowned in the noise of men at work on the old Tabor house.  It seemed the only busy place in Canaan that day:  the shade of the big beech-trees which surrounded it affording some shelter from the destroying sun to the dripping laborers who were sawing, hammering, painting, plumbing, papering, and ripping open old and new packing-boxes.  There were many changes in the old house pleasantly in keeping with its simple character:  airy enlargements now almost completed so that some of the rooms were already finished, and stood, furnished and immaculate, ready for tenancy.

In that which had been Roger Tabor’s studio sat Ariel, alone.  She had caused some chests and cases, stored there, to be opened, and had taken out of them a few of Roger’s canvases and set them along the wall.  Tears filled her eyes as she looked at them, seeing the tragedy of labor the old man had expended upon them; but she felt the recompense:  hard, tight, literal as they were, he had had his moment of joy in each of them before he saw them coldly and knew the truth.  And he had been given his years of Paris at last:  and had seen “how the other fellows did it.”

A heavy foot strode through the hall, coming abruptly to a halt in the doorway, and turning, she discovered Martin Pike, his big Henry-the-Eighth face flushed more with anger than with the heat.  His hat was upon his head, and remained there, nor did he offer any token or word of greeting whatever, but demanded to know when the work upon the house had been begun.