setting foot in places bad for good clothes! So I'll give myself the
pleasure some other time. And so good day!" He turned into a path that
took him presently out of sight and sound.

"He's a fine one!" said Alexander. "I like him."

"Who is he?"

"White Farm's great-nephew. Littlefarm was parted from White Farm.
It's over yonder where you see the water shining."

"He's free-mannered enough!"

"That's you and England! He's got as good a pedigree as any, and a
notion of what's a man, besides. He's been to Glasgow to school, too.
I like folk like that."

"I like them as well as you!" said Ian. "That is, with reservations of
them I cannot like. I'm Scots, too."

Alexander laughed. They came down to the water and the stepping-stones
before White Farm. The house faced them, long and low, white among
trees from which the leaves were falling. Alexander and Ian crossed
upon the stones, and beyond the fringing hazels the dogs came to meet
them.

Jarvis Barrow had all the appearance of a figure from that Old
Testament in which he was learned. He might have been a prophet's
right-hand man, he might have been the prophet himself. He stood, at
sixty-five, lean and strong, gray-haired, but with decrepitude far