There was an outlined flower garden in front of the house, made in
virgin soil, and with the stumps of trees, close-hewn, still showing
above the surface. Beside the door were what they called "bouncing
Betties" and "old hen and chickens," and on each side of a short
pathway, that led to what was as yet little more than a trail through
the wood, were bunches of larkspur and phlox and old-fashioned pinks
and asters, and there were a few tall hollyhocks and sunflowers
standing about as sentinels. The wild flowers all about were so close
to these that all their perfumes blended, and the phlox and pinks could
see their own cousins but a few feet away. The short path ran through
a clump of bushes but a few yards from the creek. In these bushes
song-sparrows and "chippy-birds" built their nests.

In the doorway of the little house by the forests edge stood, one
afternoon in summer, a young man. He was what might perhaps be termed
an exceedingly young man, as his sixth birthday was but lately
attained, and his stature and general appearance did not contradict his
age. His apparel was not, strictly speaking, in keeping with the glory
of the general scene. His hat had been originally of the quality known
as "chip," but the rim was gone, and what remained had an air of
abandon about it. His clothing consisted of two garments, a striped,
hickory shirt and trousers of blue drilling. The trousers were
supported by suspenders, home-made, of the same material. Sometimes he
wore but one. It saved trouble. He was barefooted. He stood with a
hand in each pocket, his short legs rather wide apart, and looked out
upon the landscape. His air was that of a large landed proprietor,
one, for instance, who owned the earth.

This young man under consideration had not been in society to any great
extent, and of one world had seen very little. Of another he knew a