I'll not till why I belave it, for that I can not do, but shure I do belave it, this is the land for you.

There'll be workin' an' thinkin' here afther you an' Batty are gone, an' maybe they'll work out the joy an' sorrow of ut here.

Don't be restless, but abide, an' take ye root here.

For Batty, it's no odds.

He's seen the worrld." Battersleigh's words caused Franklin's face to grow still more grave, and his friend saw and suspected the real cause.