“Dear me!” said the Altrurian. “Is it so simple as that? Then we can hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes.” “Oh, I fancy there isn’t much sentiment involved,” I answered, lightly. “Whoa!” said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. “Isn’t that Reuben Camp, _now_, over there by that house?” she asked, as if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. “Yes, ma’am,” said the driver. “Oh, well, then!” and “Reuben!” she called to the young man, who was prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering into a window here and there. “Come here a moment--won’t you, please?” He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the night before. “Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?” “Yes, she’s there with mother,” said the young fellow, with neither liking nor disliking in his tone. “Oh, I’m so glad!” said the lady. “I didn’t know but she might be at church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual going on inside?” “No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I should come round.” “Why, where are they?” “Oh, they’re gone.” “Gone?” “Yes; gone West. They’ve left the old place, because they couldn’t make a living here any longer.” “Why, this is quite a case in point,” I said. “Now, Mr. Homos, here is a chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of our civilization”; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: “Won’t you introduce us?” “Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author--you know his books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria.” The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian’s hand and wrung it. “I’ve heard of _you_” he said. “Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?” “Why, yes.” “So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We’ve heard of Altruria, over our way,” he added to our friend. “Mother’s been reading up all she can about it. She’ll want to talk with you, and she won’t give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess.” “Oh, I shall be glad to see her,” said the Altrurian, “and to tell her everything I can. But won’t you explain to me first something about your deserted farms here? It’s quite a new thing to me.”