There's plenty of chance for drainage from that little stream that runs into Graystone, and it's sheltered from the frost.
Old Jonathan Hawkins owns it; we went there--his wife is sick--and he said he used to sell berries off it, but it had run down.

He said he'd be glad to let somebody work it on shares, just allowing him for the use of the land.

He's too old to bother with it himself, and he is pretty well straitened for money.

There's money in it, I guess." Jerome listened, and the next day went over to Jonathan Hawkins's place, on the old Dale road, and made his bargain.

Some of his work on the cranberry-meadow was done before light, his lantern moving about the misty expanse like a marsh candle.