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 damn place while our backs were turned. What's the land worth up here?"

"Seven to ten dollars an acre."

"You could make farming pay here as well as anywhere if you had the capital behind you. You could work it on shares if you liked."

Matt said nothing.

"Who owns this?" He waved a hand to the shores of the lake.

"A man named Coddington."

"Would he sell the whole thing—lake and all?" "Yes. I guess so."

The man of large affairs nodded curtly. "Take me ashore yonder and we'll look it over."

Matt drew in his forgotten line and lifted his anchor-stone aboard. Under cover of the action Ben said, "I want you to help my family, now, Matt—and I'll help yours."

Matt looked at the stone. "It ain't that," he reflected, dully. "There's something wrong. If a man don't make money, he kills his children. An' if he does, they kill themselves. There's something wrong. Look at you an' me. Look at any young uns an' then see what they grow into. Look at how a man starts out to do the right thing—an' can't."

"Nonsense!" Ben said, impatient of all this moralizing. "Nonsense! Let's look at the land." He rubbed his hands together, chilled by the wind. "I want you to buy it for me. I'll put up the