Gabriel left the chair in which he was sitting next his employer, and went down and seated himself on the porch steps. Abner Pickett took his pipe from his mouth, and, grasping it firmly in the fingers of his right hand, looked questioningly from one member of the group to another. “Well,” he said at last, “why don’t somebody speak? Are you all struck dumb? What is it about the railroad, Dannie?” “Why, Gran’pap, they--the surveyors you know--they--they--” “Well?” “Whacked their stakes in regardless--” broke in Gabriel, in his intense anxiety to help Dannie out. Abner Pickett turned on him savagely:-- “Shut up, you fool!” he commanded. “Go on, Dannie.” “Well, they ran a railroad line up through the gap an’ stopped at the upper end of the potato lot.” It was out at last, much to Dannie’s relief. When Abner Pickett spoke again, his voice was as quiet and steady as though he were discussing nothing of greater moment than crops or cattle. “Do it to-day, did they?” he asked. “Yes,” replied Dannie, “to-day.” “Set their stakes?” “Yes, set their stakes.” “Anything done to prevent ’em?” “Why, no. I couldn’t do anything. I told ’em that they would never build their railroad, though.” “Laughed at you, didn’t they?” Dannie’s cheeks flushed with mortification and anger as he recalled his interview with the engineer. “Why, yes, they did; but I told ’em--” “No matter what you told ’em; was anything done?” The rising inflection in the old man’s voice warned his hearers that he was no longer able to smother the fires of anger kindled in his breast. “Nothing, Gran’pap. There were seven of them.” Again, in his anxiety to come to Dannie’s assistance, Gabriel broke in:-- “I told ’em that ef Abner Pickett was there, he--” “Shut up, you fool!” Gabriel obeyed his employer’s command without a word of comment. The silence which followed was broken by David Brown. “Just thought I’d come over, Mr. Pickett, and inquire. Didn’t know but maybe you might know what they were paying for right of way.” The old man straightened himself in his chair. “Right o’ way!” he exclaimed scornfully; “right o’ way! They don’t pay for it; they steal it. They pick out the best land you’ve got, set their stakes on it, an’ call it theirs. They’re thieves an’ robbers, an’ cowards as well. Yes, cowards! Else why did they wait all summer to pick out a day when I was away from home an’ nobody on the premises but a thirteen year old boy an’ a blamed fool of a hired man. Oh! if I’d ’a’ been here, I’d ’a’ told ’em where to set their stakes!” He rose to his full six feet two inches, straight as a pine tree, his neck and face crimson with anger, his blue eyes flashing fire. Neighbor Brown arose and moved awkwardly down the steps. “Guess I’ll have to be going, Mr. Pickett,” he said. “Thought I’d just run over an’ see--an’ see if there was any news from the river.” But Abner Pickett had a parting shot to fire.