“Let me say, indeed, that to think of one is to think of both. All are one, at least in my thinking, if not in actuality—as we all know, of course.” He opened his mouth and his eyes crinkled in what he intended as a display of good humor, but no sound of laughter issued from the open mouth, and the eyes behind the crinkled edges were bare of expression. “You will have heard of my acquiring a new property.” He shrugged. “A negligible place some miles away. The soil is so rocky and poor I hardly know what to do with it. I think of not farming it at all, but letting it go to grass and clover and putting cattle on it—after I fence it, of course.”

Leon nodded. Sarah kept her stillness, waiting now a little more alertly, for she knew that at some point in these formal utterances, however circumlocutory, Roscoe did finally come to a point.

Roscoe sighed, studying the carpet, or seeming to, sighed again more heavily, like a man who may regret, but knows he must accept, the advent of new responsibilities. “I am, in short, forced to look about me for help, assistance—that is to say, dependable, reliable new help and assistance. The man called Turnip, who came into my ownership with the Anderson estate, is the best of a sorry lot. I consider putting him on the new property—the house burned down, did you hear? But the barn is still there, and he can sleep in one of the snugger stalls if the winter is not too severe. He and the cattle can keep each other warm.”

He paused now to look from him to her and back to him. His eyes crinkled again in an affably meant expression, but his mouth remained closed.

“However that may be—”

Leon leaned a little forward in his chair at the desk. Sarah leaned back in hers.

“I clearly have, as you will have perceived, a problem to solve. If I put Turnip to look after the new Elk property, I will need another man or two—indeed, I am ready to consider acquiring more.”

He paused to allow this intelligence to have its effect.