vengeance was wreaked on parents through their offspring.

With no better reason than this, and with the stubbornness he mistook for
strength, Glenn would have nothing to do with his neighbours, four miles
back in the woods, and had forbidden the sale of milk and garden stuff to
them.

All this Priscilla had heard, as children do, but she had never seen any
member of the family from the Far Hill Place, and mentally relegated them
to the limbo of the damned under the classification of "them, from the
States." Their name, even, was rarely mentioned, and, while curiosity
often swayed her, temptation had never overruled obedience.

The McAlpins, with all their opportunity and qualifications, found little
about the strangers from which to make talk. The family were reserved,
and Tough Pine, the Indian guide they had impressed into summer service,
was either bought or, from natural inclination, kept himself to himself.

So, until the summer when she was fourteen, Priscilla Glenn knew less
about the Far Hill people than she did about the inhabitants of heaven
and hell, with whom her father was upon such intimate and familiar terms.

Once, when Priscilla was ten, something had occurred which prepared her
for following events. It was a bright morning and the McAlpin boat
stopped at the wharf of Lonely Farm. While old Jerry went to the
farmhouse with a package, Jerry-Jo remained on guard deeply engrossed in
a book he had extracted from a box beneath the seat. He appeared not to
notice Priscilla, who ran down the path to greet him in friendly fashion.

The boy was about fifteen then, and all the bloods of his various