“Mind what I tell you, David Brown. If they’re a-pointing toward your place, the only way to protect your rights is to set on your line fence with a shot-gun in your hands. The law won’t help you, an’ compensation for the right o’ way is nothin’ more nor less than an insult. There’s my advice to you. Take it, or let it alone, as you like.” After David Brown had gone, the old man grew somewhat calmer. He took two or three turns up and down the porch, and then resumed his seat. “Strike into the potato field, did they?” he asked of Dannie. “Yes,” was the reply; “went up through the west end of it, far as the big rock.” “Where else did they go?” “Why, they cut across the corner of the meadow lot, an’ below that they run through--” “Well?” “Through--oh, Gran’pap!” The old man rose slowly to his feet again, as if impelled thereto by a dreadful thought. “Dannie--the graveyard?” “Yes, Gran’pap.” The clay pipe which Abner Pickett had been smoking broke into a dozen pieces beneath the pressure of his clenched hand, and fell rattling to the floor. It was a full minute before he asked the next question. “Dannie, how near--how near the grave?” “Halfway between it and the road, Gran’pap.” They were all three standing now; and Aunt Martha, attracted by the unusual sound of their voices, had come to see if anything was wrong, and stood listening in the doorway. The old man spoke slowly, but with terrible emphasis. “It is sacrilege. It is not only ignoring the rights o’ the living, it is violating the rights o’ the dead. No better deed could be done by any one than to pull their accursed stakes from the ground and fling ’em, one and all, into the water of the brook!” [Illustration: “‘No better deed could be done by any one than to pull their accursed stakes from the ground, and fling ’em, one and all, into the water of the brook.’”] He walked slowly across the porch and into the house; but before he had gone half-way through the kitchen he turned and came back to the door. “Dannie,” he asked, “what kind of a lookin’ man was the engineer?” “A short man, Gran’pap, with black eyes an’ hair.” The old man gave a sigh of relief, but he was not yet quite satisfied. “Was there only one of ’em?” he asked. “Why, there was another engineer at the other instrument.” “An’ how did he look?” “Oh! he was tall an’ had red cheeks an’ blue eyes an’ light hair, hadn’t he, Gabriel?” “Gabriel, who was it? Speak!” Abner Pickett had turned upon Gabriel and made his demand so abruptly, so savagely, that the man was almost too frightened to reply. “Why--why--” he stammered. “Well, speak! speak! speak!” “Why, I don’t rightly know, Mr. Pickett. I wa’n’t payin’ no attention to that one. I was lookin’ at the other one; the little one with black whiskers, the smart one, the--” “Didn’t you see the other one at all? Don’t you know who it was? Hadn’t you ever seen ’im before? Speak!”