His face grew purple, his eyes narrowed to pin points and grew red and angry--like the eyes of an infuriated boar.

His hands shook.

Suddenly he turned upon me, poising his stick in his hand, and said violently.
"And who are you?
Who are you?
Are you one of these surveyor fellows ?" "My name," I answered as quietly as I could, "is Grayson.

I live on the old Mather farm.

I am not in the least interested in any of your road troubles." He looked at me a moment more, and then seemed to shake himself or shudder, his eyes dropped away and he began walking toward his house.
He had taken only a few steps, however, before he turned, and, without looking at me, asked if I would like to see the tools he used for trimming his hedge.