"The land is mine," he answered; "no one can say you intrude."

"Thank you heartily. I live not very far off, and know the country
pretty well, but have got into a part of which I am ignorant."

"You are welcome to go where you will on my property," he answered.
"I could not close a field without some sense of having thrown a fellow-
being into a dungeon. Whatever be the rights of land, space can belong
to the individual only '_as it were_,' to use a Shakspere-phrase. All
the best things have to be shared. The house plainly was designed for
a family."

While he spoke I scarce heeded his words for looking at the man, so
much he interested me. His face was of the palest health, with a faint
light from within. He looked about sixty years of age. His forehead
was square, and his head rather small, but beautifully modelled; his
eyes were of a light hazel, friendly as those of a celestial
dog. Though slender in build, he looked strong, and every movement
denoted activity.

I was not ready with an answer to what he said. He turned from me, and
as if to introduce a companion and so render the interview easier, he
called, in tone as gentle as if he spoke to a child, but with that
peculiar intonation that had let me understand it was not to a child
he was speaking, "Memnon! come;" and turned again to me. His movement
and words directed my attention again to the horse, who had stood
motionless. At once, but without sign of haste, the animal walked up
to the rails, rose gently on his hind legs, came over without
touching, walked up to his master, and laid his head on his shoulder.