Deacon Gramps sat on his plow-handles.

The sultry August day was drawing to a close.

The sun was just ready to roll its bright red disk behind the western horizon.

The Deacon seemed to be in a deep meditation.

He cast a glance at his beautiful farm as it stretched itself out for a mile toward the river on the one side and nestled snugly against the foot of the limestone hill on the other side.