though I doubt if he has any family pride or any family either, so, of
course, he wouldn't understand that it _is_ an insult to offer to buy one's
colonial home with holes in the door to shoot Indians through," I answered
with the temper that always came at the mention of the name of a man I had
chosen to consider a foe without any consent on his part at all.

"You'd think he was born and raised in a hollow log if you should ever
interview him, and he hasn't any family, but from some of the motions he is
making, I think he intends to have," answered Pan, with one of his most
fluty jeers, and he shook his head until the crests ruffled still lower
over the tips of his ears.

"Are you--you one of his agents--that is, _spies_, and was it you that
insulted me by wanting to buy Elmnest just because it was poor and old?" I
demanded, with the color in my cheeks.

"I am not his spy or his agent, and do you want to come down to the
spring-house and cook these wild-mustard shoots for our dinner, or shall I
go at our old garden with the prospect of an empty stomach at sunset?"

"Why won't you come in to dinner with me?" I asked, with a mollified laugh,
though I knew I was bringing down upon myself about my hundredth refusal of
proffered hospitality.

"Two reasons--first, because I won't eat with my neighbors at the 'great
house' when I can't eat with them in the cottage, and I just can't eat the
grease that a lot of the poorer villagers deluge their food with. I'm Pan,
and I live in the woods on roots and herbs. Second--because about six weeks
ago I found a farm woman who would come out at my wooing to cook and eat
the herbs and roots with me and I could have her to myself all alone. Now,