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“Oh, Cousin Jimmy, I’ve found the dearest little road,” said Emily breathlessly.

“Coming up through Lofty John’s bush?”

“Isn’t it our bush?” asked Emily, rather disappointed.

“No, but it ought to be. Fifty years ago Uncle Archibald sold that jog of land to Lofty John’s father—old Mike Sullivan. He built a little house down near the pond and lived there till he quarrelled with Uncle Archibald—which wasn’t long, of course. Then he moved his house across the road—and Lofty John lives there now. Elizabeth has tried to buy the land back from him—she’s offered him far more than it’s worth—but Lofty John won’t sell—just for spite, seeing that he has a good farm of his own and this piece isn’t much good to him. He only pastures a few young cattle on it through the summer, and what was cleared is all growing up with scrub maple. It’s a thorn in Elizabeth’s side and likely to be as long as Lofty John nurses his spite.”

“Why is he called Lofty John?”

“Because he’s a high and lofty fellow. But never mind him. I want to show you round my garden, Emily. It’s mine. Elizabeth bosses the farm; but she lets me run the garden—to make up for pushing me into the well.”