Chapter One<br >From the porch I could see the buggy make the turn past the<br >church spire at the Four Corners， a full mile away， a long<br >plume of dust marking its passage. Gibralter， my brother，<br >would be holding the reins high and firm， moving the team<br >along at his own pace， steady and regular. He would be talking<br >to the horses， but by now the visitor--the man sitting alongside<br >him in the buggy--would have discovered that while Gibralter<br >might talk to animals， he was not so inclined to converse with<br >humans.<br > The visitor would have made a few efforts at conversation，<br >to be sure. He might have remarked on the weather， on the<br >freshness of the spring day， on the sudden new growth， every-<br >where. Perhaps he admired the team， the matched bays that<br >pulled the buggy. If he knew anything at all about the handling<br >0f horses， he would admire Gib s way with the team. And Gib<br >would have answered， "yez，" if he answered anything. It would<br >have been a silent trip from the railroad station at Springfield.<br >I hoped the visitor had been able to enjoy those twenty full<br >miles of silence; I hoped he was not the sort made uncom-<br >f0rtable by silence. There was， I felt， a certain peace in riding<br >in the buggy with Gib at the reins， a steady and lovely rhythm.<br >I squinted to try to get some notion of the man. He was big，<br ><br >