The sharp bark of a dog announced the arrival of a stranger. One or two tow-headed children peeped around the corner of the house and then ran away. Agnes stood still for a moment and then knocked peremptorily at the door. One of the children opened it shyly, and Agnes entered. The house held four rooms and a lean-to. The principal room downstairs was utilized as a living-room; from the adjoining apartment came odors of cooking. “Say that Agnes Kennedy is here,” said the girl, with a confidence of manner which showed that she did not mean to take a rebuff. There was a consultation in the back room and presently a tall muscular man entered. “Who might you be, and what do you want?” he asked. There was a resolute, uncompromising expression on his face which would have intimidated a less courageous girl. “I am Agnes Kennedy, the daughter of the owner of this place. My mother sent a letter to the tenant,--I suppose you are he,--but perhaps you never received it. I know it is not easy to get letters to such an out-of-the-way place.” The man eyed her sharply. “No letter came for me. Who says you own this place?” “My mother owns it because it was her father’s. I have the deed for it. It was my grandfather’s property for years.” “Who was your grandfather?” “My mother is the only child of Humphrey Muirhead.” “Who is your mother?” “My mother was Margaret Muirhead of Carlisle; she married my father, Fergus Kennedy. Her father was killed by the Indians. You have a right to ask me all these questions, and I will tell you that after my grandfather died, it was found that he did not leave anything of any account except this place. My mother wrote to some one out here about it, and I thought you were the one. After my grandfather Kennedy died, my mother urged my father to come out here and take this place, and she will come later. He is back in the settlement, but he is not well, and I came to take possession myself in my mother’s name. I think we can be very comfortable here,” Agnes went on, “though I am sorry the house is not larger,” she added, beginning to recognize the unresponsiveness of the man, “but of course you can stay here till you can build another. It will not take long, you know.” The man gave a mocking laugh. “It will take a longer time than you will ever see, my young miss. You will have to travel back the way you came. This place is more mine than yours. Possession is nine points of the law. Here I am and here I mean to stay. You may have the deed, but I’ve got the place, and it will take more than one slip of a girl to get it from me.” Agnes was speechless with amazement at what she considered the audacity of the man. “You dare to say that?” she cried, recovering her courage. “You have no right to live here at all. It is as much robbery for you to do such a thing as to keep what belongs to another.” The man’s face darkened. “Take care,” he said. “You’d better be more civil. I’ll not be contradicted by a chit of a girl.”