For a few minutes Dorinda was silent. When she spoke it was to remark irrelevantly, "How little human beings know what is best for them." "I didn't understand what you said, Dorinda." "No matter. I was only thinking aloud." It was a mellow October afternoon, and around them the fields were resting after a fair harvest. As far as she could see, east, north, west, the land belonged to her. Only toward the south there were the pale green willows of Gooseneck Creek, and beyond the feathery edge she saw the red chimneys of Five Oaks. But for those chimneys she would have felt that the whole horizon was hers! "They say Five Oaks will come under the hammer before long." Nathan's gaze also was on the red smears in the sky. "It's mortgaged now for as much as it'll ever bring, and there's trouble about the taxes." A wild idea shot into her mind. "I suppose it will bring a good deal?" "If it is put up at a forced sale, it will probably go for a song. Nobody is buying land now. Amos Wigfall bought the old Haney place five years ago for a dollar an acre. Some day, if he looks out, it will be worth a hundred." She looked at him with calculating eyes. "If I could buy Five Oaks, my farm would be as big as Green Acres." His neighing laugh broke out. "Good Lord, Dorinda, what would you do with it?" "I don't know what I'd do with it, but I want it. I'd give ten years of my life for the chance of owning Five Oaks before I die." His laugh dropped to a chuckle. "Now, that's downright queer because I've been studying about bidding on it myself. It looks to me as if that would be the only way to save my money." "Well, I'd rather you'd own it than anybody else," she said grudgingly. "But I'm going to the sale when it comes, and if I'm able to sell my prize bull, I'm going to bid against you. I've got almost five thousand dollars in bank." "You'd better leave it there for the present. I wouldn't bid a cent on the place if it wasn't for the fact that I own most of it already. It's going to be hard to make anybody buy it. Just you wait and see." "What will become of Jason?" she inquired abruptly. Nathan looked dubious. "He'll go to work for James Ellgood, I reckon, or more likely drink himself out of the way. But he's been doing better of late, I hear. He was at church last Sunday in the Ellgood pew, looking all spruced up, as if he hadn't smelt whiskey for a month." Her next words came quickly, as if she were afraid of drawing them back before they escaped. "Why didn't he ever go away after his father died?" "He'd lost the wish, I reckon. Things happen like that sometimes. The old man hung on to him until all the sap was drained dry." "His father died years ago."