The smart little roan mare drew up at the gate of the Cooper place, and Ben Cooper leaned over and lifted the latch with the loop of his riding-whip. The gate was still creaking open when the lad noticed old Stephen Comegies stumping along the road on his gouty legs, and leaning heavily upon a stout oaken staff. But old Stephen seemed not to hear; his eyes were fixed upon the road, and his lips were muttering; from the way his gnarled hand clutched the staff, it would have fared badly with those who had excited his anger had they been in reach of its iron-shod foot.…
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