Farr went to the fence and folded his arms on the top.

The old man, resting a moment, seemed to feel that intent regard from
behind and, without turning his body, hooked his narrow and bony chin
over his shoulder and swapped a long stare with the stranger.

"Well," inquired the venerable chopper, "what is on thy mind, sir?" His
tone was sour.

"Seeing that the question is direct and remembering that age deserves
the truth, I'll say that I was thinking that this seems to be an ideal
location for a private lunatic-asylum, and that guests are allowed to
enjoy themselves."

"I will have thee to understand that I have sat for thirty long years at
the head of the Friends' meeting in this town and never has it been said
that my wits are cracked. Furthermore, this is none of thy affair. Move
on."

Farr merely shifted his feet and took an easier pose at the fence.

"Feeling as I do, it will not trouble me much to come over there and
take a chop or two at thee," warned the old man.

"I didn't know that Quakers ever allowed their feelings to get so highly
spiced."

"Along with thee, tramp!"