The farmhouses were warmly built and hale and strong; no winter
blast should rage so bitterly as to shake them, or scatter the hospitable
embers on the hearth. For this was Carlow County, and he was coming home.
They crossed a by-road. An old man with a streaky gray chin-beard was
sitting on a sack of oats in a seatless wagon, waiting for the train to
pass. Harkless seized his companion excitedly by the elbow.
"Tommy!" he cried. "It's Kim Fentriss--look! Did you see that old fellow?"
"I saw a particularly uninterested and uninteresting gentleman sitting on
a bag," replied his friend.
"Why, that's old Kimball Fentriss. He's going to town; he lives on the
edge of the county."
"Can this be true?" said Meredith gravely.
"I wonder," said Harkless thoughtfully, a few moments later, "I wonder why
he had them changed around."
"Who changed around?"
"The team. He always used to drive the bay on the near side, and the
sorrel on the off."
"And at present," rejoined Meredith, "I am to understand that he is
driving the sorrel on the near side, and bay on the off?"
"That's it," returned the other. "He must have worked them like that for
some time, because they didn't look uneasy. They're all right about the
train, those two. I've seen them stand with their heads almost against a
fast freight. See there!" He pointed to a white frame farmhouse with green
blinds.
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