“Now say ‘Carruthers, how can I be so dumb?’”

And they roared with laughter, for that was what Christina had used to say—had even said when she had a bad fall from her horse and was half stunned.

“Why didn’t I think of Jim?”

“Maybe because you really wanted to see me,” Eben teased.

“Maybe,” Christina said gravely. “I’ve been shy,” she admitted. “But, Eben, the real problem is Cornelius. He wants to have Old Pete and Nick penalized for trespass as well as the New Yorkers.”

“They were trespassing, of course. Too bad, really, that they had guns with them.”

“Yes, but you know how people feel around here—they might just as well be Indians whose land was taken from them. Posted land just does not apply to the village—that’s what I mean.”

“Do Jim and Cornelius hit it off? They used to, as I remember.”

“Oh, all right, but Cornelius doesn’t take to advice gladly.”

“Like his father. The old man was as stubborn as a mule when you came right down to it, especially when he was in the wrong. The Chapmans have always felt that whatever you did or said, you stood by it. One does not admit a mistake, especially a mistake in judgment.”

“You seem very sure.” Christina bristled just slightly.

“I knew the Chapmans before you did.”

“True.” It was an absent-minded answer because Christina was thinking that the amazing thing about life is how little people change. Except for the white crest of hair, except for the stooping shoulders, this might be the old Eben. “The Websters came back from their call just radiant, and talked about what a wise man you are.” She lifted a mocking eyebrow.

“And you came up here really just to make sure they were fooled?”

“Are you wise, Eben?”

“About some things maybe,” he answered. “I have thought a lot about this town since Olive died—oh, a sort of game of solitaire. I haven’t thought much about myself though. So it depends what this wisdom is.”

“I’m afraid,” Christina said in a low voice, “afraid of a rift between Ellen and me. She’ll never forgive Cornelius if Nick is held for trespass. And, frankly, I wouldn’t blame her.”

“Cornelius knows the man’s war record, I presume, and that he came home more or less a cripple.”

“Oh, yes, but you know Cornelius—he expects so much of himself and of everyone else.”

“How is he?” Eben asked.

“He’s wonderful, Eben—so patient and good. We live from day to day.”

“Hard on you,” Eben murmured. He felt awkward. There was too much pain and antagonism just under the surface.