“That is the Thingvalla settlement,” he said, “and this—is New Antrim.” Then he swept his hand between the two and glanced at Billy Ketchum. “And all this in here is the pine owned by Miller, Knees & Dye.” The shoemaker whispered in his ear, and he turned to the chairman, and said in a sterner voice: “I want to show who is to blame for all this trouble between the settlements.” “We are not dealing with quarrels,” was the response. “We are here to equalize taxes.” “That’s it, that’s what I want to do. I want to show that the taxes aren’t equal.” Then he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a much-folded paper. With this to support him, he forgot all about himself, and talked rapidly and earnestly. He told how he had figured up all the land owned by the Scandinavians of Thingvalla, and all that owned by New Antrim, and all that owned by the lumber company. “Thingvalla has two thousand two hundred and forty acres in farms; New Antrim has two thousand nine hundred and twenty acres,” he explained, “while the lumber company has more than twelve thousand acres of pine. Thingvalla is assessed at an average of four dollars and sixty cents an acre; New Antrim is assessed at four dollars and fifteen cents an acre—a little less, but not enough to count. But here is this lumber company assessed for only one dollar and ninety cents an acre—” Here Billy Ketchum sprang excitedly to his feet. “But this is wild land—not a foot of it is cultivated. I tell you such a comparison is unfair—” “Yes, but your pine is worth more to the acre than our farms with all our crops and buildings on them.” “I tell you—” “I know!” broke in Eric, excitedly. “I tell you, I know! Look here—” He drew from his pocket a pack of little strips of paper, each with a section map at the top, upon which different “forties” of land were checked up in red and blue pencil. He turned again to the table and marked out a square about midway between the settlements. “Here’s section ten, township forty, range twelve. Last fall I was hired to go over this land with the company’s explorer, and estimate the pine. We travelled together for two months, counted all the trees, and estimated the number of feet of lumber they would make. That pine as it stands is worth from four dollars to six dollars a thousand feet, and some of the single forties have more than two hundred thousand feet of timber on them. That makes a cash value of from eight hundred dollars to twelve hundred dollars—or twenty dollars to thirty dollars an acre—and that’s more than the best improved farm in this county is worth—” “I tell you—” roared little Billy Ketchum, wild with excitement.