I had written a letter to them every week and one or the other had answered it.

Between the lines I had detected the note of loneliness.

They had told me the small news of the countryside.

How narrow and monotonous it all seemed to me then! Rodney Barnes had bought a new farm; John Axtell had been hurt in a runaway; my white mare had got a spavin! "Hello, mister!" I started out of my reverie with a little jump of surprise.

A big, rough-dressed, bearded man stood in the middle of the road with a gun on his shoulder.
"Where ye goin' ?" "Up to the Van Heusen place." "Where do ye hail from ?" "Cobleskill." "On business for Judge Westbrook ?" "Yes." "Writs to serve ?" "Yes," I answered with no thought of my imprudence.
"Say, young man, by hokey nettie! I advise you to turn right around and go back." "Why ?" "'Cause if ye try to serve any writs ye'll git into trouble." "That's interesting," I answered.