appeared to crave.


Chapter II. A Very Interested Friend

For the next few days, Holcroft lived alone. The weather remained inclement
and there was no occasion for him to go farther away than the barn and
outbuildings. He felt that a crisis in his life was approaching, that he
would probably be compelled to sell his property for what it would bring, and
begin life again under different auspices.

"I must either sell or marry," he groaned, "and one's about as hard and bad as
the other. Who'll buy the place and stock at half what they're worth, and
where could I find a woman that would look at an old fellow like me, even if I
could bring myself to look at her?"

The poor man did indeed feel that he was shut up to dreadful alternatives.
With his ignorance of the world, and dislike for contact with strangers,
selling out and going away was virtually starting out on an unknown sea
without rudder or compass. It was worse than that--it was the tearing up of a
life that had rooted itself in the soil whereon he had been content from
childhood to middle age. He would suffer more in going, and in the memory of
what he had parted with, than in any of the vicissitudes which might overtake
him. He had not much range of imagination or feeling, but within his
limitations his emotions were strong and his convictions unwavering. Still,
he thought it might be possible to live in some vague, unknown place, doing
some kind of work for people with whom he need not have very much to do.
"I've always been my own master, and done things in my own way," he muttered,
"but I suppose I could farm it to suit some old, quiet people, if I could only
find 'em. One thing is certain, anyhow--I couldn't stay here in Oakville, and