We were at the foot of the slope where the road to Buzzards Glory
branches from the pike. The Arkers had spied us coming, and ran down
from the tannery to greet us. Arnold, after he had a dozen times
expressed his delight at my return, asked if I had seen any shooting.
His son Sam's wife nudged him and whispered in his ear, upon which he
apologized abruptly, explaining that he had dropped his spectacles in
the tanning vat. Sam sought to extricate his father from these
imaginary difficulties by demanding that I go coon-hunting with him on
the next night. This set Sam's wife's elbow going again very
vigorously, and the further embarrassment of the whole family was saved
by Henry Holmes swinging the whip across the backs of the mules.
On went the state-coach of Black Log. We clattered quickly over the
last level stretch. We dragged up the last long hill, and from its
brow I looked on the roofs of Six Stars rising here and there from the
green bed of trees. I heard the sonorous rumble of the mill, and above
it a shrill and solitary crow.
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