Reaching the little city of
Zanesville in the evening, he spent the night at a hotel. In the morning
he called upon the agent, and the two were soon whirling along the
road behind a pair of wiry little ponies.
The drive of eight or ten miles passed very pleasantly between the
real estate man and his prospective customer in such conversation as
gentlemen whose lives are spent in the whirl of the money world indulge
in between moments of activity.
At last they neared the farm, and bringing the ponies to a walk, the
agent began pointing out the most desirable features of the property:
the big barn, the fine timber land in the distance, the rich soil of
a field near by, the magnificent crop of corn, the stream of water
where cattle stood knee-deep lazily fighting the flies, and the fine
young orchard just across the road from the house.
"Yes, the building is old"--as they drove up in front of the big gate;
"but it is good yet, and with just a little expense, can be converted
into a model of modern convenience and beauty."
As they drove into the yard and got out to hitch the ponies,
Mrs. Barton came to the door.
"Just come right in, Mr. Richards, John is over in the north field;
I'll go for him."
"Oh No, Mrs. Barton, I'll go. This is Mr. Goodrich, who wishes to look
at the farm. Mr. Goodrich, just wait here in the shade and I'll go
after Mr. Barton."
"I believe," said Adam, "if you don't mind, I'll walk through the
orchard until you return.
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