It was a large white
farm-house with many outbuildings. It looked most
promising. He approached the side door, and a
dog sprang from around a corner and barked, but
he spoke, and the dog's tail became eloquent. He
was patting the dog, when the door opened and a
man stood looking at him. Immediately the taint
of the prison became evident. He had not cringed
before the dog, but he did cringe before the man
who lived in that fine white house, and who had
never known what it was to be deprived of liberty.
He hung his head, he mumbled. The house-owner,
who was older than he, was slightly deaf. He
looked him over curtly. The end of it was he was
ordered off the premises, and went; but the dog
trailed, wagging at his heels, and had to be roughly
called back. The thought of the dog comforted
Stebbins as he went on his way. He had always
liked animals. It was something, now he was past
a hand-shake, to have the friendly wag of a dog's
tail.
The next house was an ornate little cottage with
bay-windows, through which could be seen the flower
patterns of lace draperies; the Virginia creeper
which grew over the house walls was turning crim-
son in places. Stebbins went around to the back
door and knocked, but nobody came. He waited
a long time, for he had spied a great pile of uncut
wood.
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