he drank basins of tea from well-polished metal; he saw the ugly rows in
the taverns, where men let loose from river duty tried to regain civilian
life by means of liquor and cards; he heard the stern thud of a hard fist
against a piece of wood; he saw twenty men spring upon another twenty
with rage in their faces; he saw hundreds of men arrived in civilization
once again striking for their homes and loved ones, storming with life.
He saw the door flung open, and the knee-booted, corduroyed river-man,
with red sash around his waist and gold rings in his ears, seize the
woman he called wife and swing her to him with a hungry joy; he saw the
children pushed gently here, or roughly, but playfully, tossed in the air
and caught again; but he also saw the rough spirits of the river march
into their homes like tyrants returned, as it were, cursing and banging
their way back to their rightful nests.

Occasionally he would wish to be in it all again, out in the wild woods
and on the river and in the shanty, free and strong and friendly and a
bit ferocious. All he had known of the backwoods life filled his veins,
tortured him at times.

From the day that both wills were made and signed, no word had been
spoken concerning them between him and John Grier. He admired certain
characteristics of John Grier; some secret charities, some impulsive
generosity, some signs of public spirit. The old man was fond of
animals, and had given water-troughs to the town; and his own horses and
the horses he used in the woods were always well fed. Also, in all his
arrangements for the woods, he was generous. He believed in feeding his
men well. It was rough food--beans, potatoes, peas, lentils, pork in
barrels-salted pork; but there was bread of the best, rich soup, pork
well boiled and fried, with good tea, freshly made. This was the regular
fare, and men throve on it.