"I'd certainly like to look the place over," said Jethro. But he did not reply at once. It was almost as though his thoughts had to be recalled from a far country.
So they walked out into the fields. Linda looked more tiny and wraithlike than ever with the tall, gaunt Jethro on one side of her and the ponderous form of Samuel Gage looming up on the other. They were a strangely assorted trio which through some queer whim of fate had been thrown together. If the cataclysm of War had not scarred the earth their paths may never have crossed. Was there not a western author who once wrote, "Our greatest friends we ofttimes never meet?"
Jethro was in a good mood. He liked the farm. The simplicity of the homestead appealed to him. But it was Linda herself who appealed to him most. She was a great mother in a great country. The soil must be made to keep her.
And he said, "Although the farm is a bit
run down, it is excellent in many ways. The
