"There, fellow citizens," he said, "there is what I'd call a good rider!" As the good rider came abreast he swept off his hat. His eyes were merry; he nodded greeting and shook back a mop of blackest hair. The sun had looked upon him. He checked the blue horse in his stride--not to stop, but to slow him; he spoke to Lull in passing. "Garfield post office?" He jerked a thumb toward the bridge; for indeed, seen across the ramparts of the ditch, there was small distinction between visible Garfield and the scattered farmsteads. "This way?" "Yes." "Just across the bridge," added Lyn. The story scorns to suppress the truth--she smiled her dimpliest. "Thanks," said the stranger; and then, as he came abreast of Charlie See: "And the road to Hillsboro? Back this way--or straight on?" "Straight through. Take the right hand at the post office--straight to the ford. You'll have to swim, I reckon." "Yes," said the stranger indifferently. He was well beyond See and Edith Harkey now, and the blue horse came back into the road and into his reaching stride. "Thanks." The stranger looked back with the last word; at the same time Miss Dyer turned her head. They smiled. "And they turned Lot's wife into a pillar of salt!" said Mr. Lull bitterly. "He had such smiling eyes," urged Lyn. "Ruin and destruction! See! Edith! Spread out--head her off!" Hobby grabbed Lyn's bridle rein and led his captive away at a triumphant trot. They turned aside to inspect the doubtful passage where the future ditch must clamber and twist to cross Deadman; Hobby Lull explained, defended, expounded; he bristled with estimates, alternative levels and acre costs; here was the inevitable way, but yonder there was a choosing; at that long gray point, miles away, the ditch must leave the river to gain the needed grades. He sparkled with irresistible enthusiasm, he overbore opposition. "Look here, folks!" said Hobby. "See those thunder-heads? It's clouding up fast. It's going to rain and there's not a man in town can stop it. I aimed to take you up and show you the place we picked to make the ditch head, but I judge we best go home. We can see the ditch head another day." "Now was I convinced or only persuaded?" Charlie See made the grumbling demand of Edith as they set their faces homeward. Yet he was secretly impressed; he paused by jungle and sandy swale or ribbed and gullied slope for admiration of orchards unplanted and friendly homesteads yet to be; he drew rein by a pear thicket and peered half enviously into its thorny impenetrable keeps. "Who lives there, Edith? That's the best place we've seen. Big fine house and all, but it looks comfortable and homey, just the same--mighty pleasant and friendly. And them old-fashioned flower beds are right quaint." "Hollyhocks," she breathed; "and marigolds, and four o'clocks. An old-fashioned woman lives here."