averaging somewhere near a foot in diameter, he thought, but they were thick and uniform. The trunks were not smooth; many dead branches protruded there, as nature pursued her slow method of pruning. There was little brush on the ground.
"Is this Foraker's Folly?" he asked.
Lucius roused with a start. "Yup—Damn fool.—She's a lulu though!"
They crossed what appeared to be another road, also straight and plowed, but in it were no worn ruts. Soon they crossed another and another, placed at regular intervals. And then they ran out of the gloom, into sight of the Blueberry River which swooped at them, imprisoned between high banks, and a house, first story of logs and the second thatched with shingles, wide-windowed, generous of chimney, which stood on a knoll against the deep green of white pine. There were other buildings about, several of them, but the road led straight to the door of the big house.
"Here; we're in wrong," growled Taylor and set the brake, stopping at the corner of the building, not far from a dog kennel, from the depths of which two orange lights glowed at him. He shook the boy roughly and roused him.
"Where are we?"
The other yawned.
"I'll be son-gun—Brought you right to her housh!"
"Get out then, and let me out—I'll have to find the way for myself."
Lucius grumbled as John took him by the shoulder and shoved him to the ground.
"Leggo me!"
