"There's one seven miles from here," Heathcote replied; "stores, post office, a Methodist minister--necessary evils, you know," this came with a fat chuckle, "but the Forest ain't anything but the Forest. Houses sorter dropped down carelesslike where someone's fancy fixed 'em. There used to be a church and school. The school burned down; the church, half finished, stands like a hint for better living, on a little island a half mile down the line. There's the Point where the folks live as can't get a footing elsewhere. There's always a Point or a Hollow, you know. And there's the Mines, back some miles to the south. Iron that used to be worked. Queer holdings!" Peter paused. Sustained conversation always made him pant and gave Polly an opportunity to edge in. "As I was saying," she began calmly, "every once so often God Almighty made us realize that He had His hand on the reins. When me and Peter got to acting as if we owned things, someone new happened along and--stuck. "First there was old Doctor Rivers. We never rightly knew where he came from, or why. By and by we got to feeling we best showed our love and respect by not wondering about him. "Then after the doctor did his stint and left his mark, Maclin came. We're studying over Maclin yet. He bought the Mines and kinder settled down on us all like a heavy air that ain't got any set of the wind." Aunt Polly was picturesque. Peter eyed her admiringly and gave his comfortable chuckle. "Sister holds," he explained, "that the Forest isn't the God-forsaken place it looks to be, but is a rich possibility. I differ, and that is what queers Maclin with us. His buying those wore-out mines and saying he's going to _make_ the Forest is damaging evidence against him. He ain't no fool: then what is he? That's what we're conjuring with. Maclin ain't seeing himself in partnership with the Almighty, not he! One-man firm for Maclin." "Now, brother!" Polly remarked while Heathcote was catching his breath, "I say give a good doubt to a man till you have to give a bad one. We've no right to judge Maclin yet, he's only just begun to have his say-so out loud, and put out feelers." "And now"--Peter put his plate down for the faithful Ginger to lap clean, and prepared to rise--"and now, you've come, stranger. When you hesitated a time back as to whether you was pausing or staying on, I just held my breath, and when you slapped out, 'staying on,' I thought to myself, 'Now, which is he, a dispensation of Providence or just a plain passer-by?'" Northrup smiled grimly. This all fitted into his own vague mood of unreality. "You mustn't take me seriously," he said, going around the table to help his host. "I'm as ordinary as the majority. I like the looks of things here. I stop and enjoy myself, and pass on! That's the usual way, isn't it?"