Twenty acres of the total thirty were on the side of the road with the house, and the lot was almost square--about three hundred yards to a side. Down along the brook the land had been considered worthless. South of the orchard it had grown to sugar maple for a brief space, then to young pine, evidently seedlings of some big trees now cut down, with a little tamarack swamp in the far corner. The pines again ran up the southern boundary from this swamp. The brook flowed cheerily below the orchard, wound amid the open grove of maples, and went with a little drop over green stones into the dusk of the pines. The rest of the land, which lay up a slope to a point a little west of the house and then extended along a level plateau, was either pasture or good average tillage, fairly heavy, with subsoil enough to hold the dressing. It had, however, I fancied, been neglected for many years, like the tumbling stone walls which bounded it, and which also enclosed a four or five acre hayfield occupying the entire southwestern corner of the lot, on the plateau. The professor, who married a summer estate as well as a motor car, confirmed me in this. Behind the barn, on the other side of the road, the rectangular ten-acre lot was rough second-growth timber by the brook, and cow pasture all up the slope and over the plateau. Returning to the house, we took a sample of the water from the well for analysis. When I asked the old lady (I made the mistake of calling her Mrs. Noble) to boil the bottle and the cork first, I think they both decided I was mad. "Now," said I, as I put the sample in my pocket, "if this water gets a clean bill of health, what do you want for the place?" "What'll you give me?" said Milt. "Look here," said I, "I'm a Yankee, too, and I can answer one question with another just as long as you can. What do you expect me to give you?" The old man spat meditatively, and wiped his whiskers with the back of his hand. "Pitt Perkins got $500 an acre for his place," said he. "They get $500 a square foot on Wall Street in New York," I replied. "And 'twon't grow corn, neither," said Milt, with his nearest approximation to a grin. "It pastures lambs," put in the professor. But Milt didn't look at him. He gazed meditatively at the motor. "So thet contraption cost $4,000, did it?" he mused, as if to himself, "and 'twon't drop a calf, neither. How'd $8,000 strike you?" I took the bottle of well water from my pocket, and extended it toward him. "Here," I said, "there's no need for me to have this analyzed." "Seven?" said he. "Four!" said I. "Six?" said he. "Not a cent over four," said I. "All right," said he, "didn't much want ter sell anyhow." And he pocketed the bottle. I climbed into the car, and the professor walked in front and cranked it. (It had a self-starter, which was, as they usually appear to be, out of commission.) The engine began to throb. The professor put on his gloves.