" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. "I don't know what his idea was. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp. Not at all. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. “I have spoken too many truths to-night. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine.
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