"Are you sure you own it?" I asked. "Is it really yours?"

"My father owned this farm before me," he said, "and my grandfather
cleared this field and built these walls. I was born in that house and
have lived there all my life."

"Well, then, I must be going--and I will not come here again," I said.
"I am sorry I walked on your land--"

I started to go down the hill, but stopped, and said, as though it were
an afterthought:

"I have made some wonderful discoveries upon your land, and that hill
there. You don't seem to know how valuable this field is.... Good-bye."

With that I took two or three steps down the hill--but felt the old
man's hand on my arm.

"Say, mister," he asked, "are you one of the electric company men? Is
that high-tension line comin' across here?"

"No," I said, "it is something more valuable than that!"

I walked onward a few steps, as though I was quite determined to get out
of his field, but he followed close behind me.

"It ain't the new trolley line, is it?"

"No," I said, "it isn't the trolley line."