This is the 'company place.'" Without awaiting a
reply, he led the way into the narrow hall, whence the two entered
another, brighter room, in which Grandma Orde sat, the canary
singing above her head.
"Mother," said Orde, "this is Mr. Newmark, who was with us on the
drive this spring."
Grandma Orde laid her gold-bowed glasses and her black leather Bible
on the stand beside her.
"Mr. Newmark and I spoke at the door," said she, extending her frail
hand with dignity. "If you were on the drive, Mr. Newmark, you must
have been one of the High Privates in this dreadful war we all read
about."
Newmark laughed and made some appropriate reply. A few moments
later, at Orde's suggestion, the two passed out a side door and back
into the remains of the old orchard.
"It's pretty nice here under the trees," said Orde. "Sit down and
light up. Where you been for the last couple of weeks?"
"I caught Johnson's drive and went on down river with him to the
lake," replied Newmark, thrusting the offered cigar in one corner of
his mouth and shaking his head at Orde's proffer of a light.
"You must like camp life."
"I do not like it at all," negatived Newmark emphatically, "but the
drive interested me.
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