A worthy man, he had neither imagination nor primitive instincts and he valued the wilderness only as a cheap place in which to make homes.

He spoke much of clearing the ground, of the great crops that would come, and of the profit and delight afforded by regular work year after year on the farm.

Henry Ware sat in silence, listening to his father's oracular tones, but his mother, glancing at him, had doubts to which she gave no utterance.
The days passed and as the spring glided into summer they grew hotter.
The sun glowed upon the fields, and the earth parched with thirst.

In the forest the leaves were dry and they rustled when the wind blew upon them.

The streams sank away again, as they had done during the siege, and labor became more trying.