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"Look at the barn, and the stables, and the corncrib," he was saying. "See how they're all built? Hand-hewn logs chinked with plaster. Great-granddad built them all, helped by his two slaves. That's all the slaves he had, just two and one of 'em was Unc' Zenas's grandfather. Everything's strong and sound as the day he finished it." "That one looks newer," said Annie, pointing.
Wesley looked a little shamefaced, as does every typical Anglo-Saxon discovered in sentiment. "I built that," he confessed. "It's a chicken house. Somehow I didn't want to go down to the sawmill and get planks and build with 'em 'mongst all these old log things. So I got the logs out in the woods and build same as great-granddad. Maybe it was foolish, but I couldn't help it."
My great-granddad, he was the man that bought this land and began to clear it. He wanted to be away off from everybody." "Why?" asked Annie, interested in the story. The vein on Wesley's forehead seemed to grow larger and darker as he answered: "Oh, he got into trouble knocked a man down, and the fellow struck his head on a stone and died.
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