across the fields it's like I could see Enoch again walkin' behind the plow. So I can't go 'way. My men would be lonesome.'"
"Funny the way a bit of ground can grip you," commented Jethro. "I appreciate how Linda Joel feels and admire her for wanting to remain. It is her desire, you say, to keep the farm. Then we must see to it that the farm is thankful for her attitude. It must be made to keep her."
Linda Joel was seated on the porch when they arrived, a rather forlorn, stoop-shouldered creature. Although she was not so old in years, care and hardship had left their mark on her thin, care-worn face. Her hands were big and scrawny. The knuckles were enlarged and many of her finger-nails were broken with toil. She wore an ancient frayed black dress with a bit of white around the throat. About her shoulders although the day was warm she had a small blue shawl. Her hair was almost white, her lips almost colorless, which made the sallow olive whiteness of her face all the
more pronounced. But it was the eyes of Linda
