By Zipporah L. Stewart
It was June. Ebenezer Brown arose very early after a sleepless night in the old rock farm house in Eden Valley. With a heavy step he went out through the kitchen and onto the back porch. The house dog sprang out from the corner for his usual morning greeting, only to turn back disappointedly without a word from the man who did not even see him.
Out through the yard gate past the barn and over the old creek bridge and through the cow pasture he strolled, to a clump of wood at the right of a field of corn that he, with Jim, had planted just yesterday.