He is a man whom the Lord has seen fit to try with a host of female
relatives, all family proud. He can fight the Devil and has done so
quite gallantly in four or five volumes of really good old-fashioned
sermons, "books," as he will tell you with a twinkle in his eye, "that
nobody could or would read nowadays." But he can not fight the women
of his family, so with a mournful chuckle he sits down every rainy day
and labors mightily on this great "historical work."

On sunny days he goes about his grounds, petting his trees and his
chickens, and working in his garden. He has several ingenious methods
of fighting weeds and raises the earliest, best and latest sweet corn
in Green Valley.

But men like the Colonel and Joshua Stillman and the Reverend Alexander
Campbell are representatives of Green Valley's leisure class. They
give Green Valley its high peace, its aristocratic flavor. But they
are a little remote from the town's workday life, being given to dreams
and memories and scholarly pursuits. They know little of the doings
and talks that go on in Billy Evans' livery barn, or the hotel. They
do, of course, go to the barber shop, the bank and the postoffice, and
always when abroad give courteous greeting to every townsman. But they
have never sat in the smoky, red-painted blacksmith shop or among the
patriarchs and town wits who in summer keep open-air sessions on the
wide, inviting platform in front of Uncle Tony's hardware store, and in
winter hold profound meetings around the store's big, glowing stove.

Uncle Tony's is the most social spot in town and is from a
news-gathering point of view most ideally situated. Sitting in one of
the smooth-worn old armchairs that Uncle Tony always keeps handy, you