“But the Thorburns don’t need money,” he said decisively. “It wouldn’t be a purchase.” The idea was so abhorrent that he determinedly put it aside, and fell asleep thinking of possible changes in the decorations and furnishings of the big, stone house on the avenue. The miniature had not been forgotten: he had purposely refrained from looking at it. It was early morning when he awoke and looked out. The sun was just rising. High Court was yet asleep. The only moving thing about the grounds was a gardener, pushing before him a barrow filled with weeds and tools. Austin dressed hurriedly, and quietly made his way out upon the broad lawn. Then he pulled his soft hat over his eyes, settled his coat, and made off down the carriage road, walking briskly. To reach the creek was easy. But once on its edge, he looked up at the house and felt that the long pull back would be less difficult after a refreshing cup of coffee. The thought touched his pride--had he grown to be such an old fogy that he must have his usual breakfast stimulant before making a little extra physical effort! The town lay up the level track. He turned that way. Breakfast over at the little Mexican restaurant, he started homeward, leaving the tracks, this time, and following a trail that led through a small field of alfalfa. When the woods were reached, he settled himself against a log in the sun, and looked down upon the town, toward which a pigmy freight train was crawling, and upon the fringed creek and the small, fenced alfalfa fields bordering the lane. And then--_gobble, gobble, gobble_. He glanced along the trail. Some turkeys were coming into view, and beyond them, a wide, bobbing hat. When Vincenza appeared, driving the laziest gobbler before her, Austin rose. “Out early with your turkeys, I see,” he began. “You’re Miss Vincenza. Mrs. Thorburn has spoken of you. I’m staying at High Court for a few days.” She had been standing very still while he talked, modestly watching him. Now, she smiled frankly, and nodded. “Yes, I know Mrs. Thorburn,” she said. “All the time, ladies and gentlemen come from the city to visit her. Sometimes I see them--I go up to the house to take a turkey, maybe, and then I see them on the porch.” She moved away, following the flock, and he walked with her. They went slowly, accommodating themselves to the vagaries of the leading hens, whose slender chicks, forever cheeping shrilly, ran on and on in a little brown, eager brood. “Isn’t the morning beautiful!” he said. “I live in the city, you know, and never see the sun come up.” “I always see it,” she answered. “I drive the turkeys out early. They are in a coop at night, for the coyotes would like to eat them. When they get loose, oh, they walk and walk. They walk my feet off!” She shook her head in mock despair.