They saw a man in a barn painfully
rolling along a heavy cylindrical bundle which had just come off a
waggon. As they advanced to ask him the way, he left his work and came
to meet them, a being as unkempt as his farm, and with an unpleasant
light in his bloodshot eye.
"What are you two spyin' around fer at this time o' day, stead o'
tendin' to your work like the rest o' folks? Ef you want anything, speak
out, 'cause I've no time to be foolin' round."
"We were directed to ask you, sir, the way to the Beaver River," said
the dominie, politely. The man sulkily led them away out of view of the
barn, and then pointed out a footpath through his farm, which he said
would lead them to the highroad. As they were separating, Wilkinson
thanked the man, and Coristine asked him casually:--
"Do you happen to know if a Mr. Rawdon, who makes and sells grindstones,
has passed this way lately?"
"No," cried the sluggard farmer; "who says he has?" Then, in a quieter
tone, he continued: "I heern tell as he passed along the meetin'-house
way yesday. What do you want of Rawdon?"
"My friend, here, is a geologist, and so is that gentleman.
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