Overarched with maples, the old road parallels the river bend, a mile away.  The broad and fertile bottom land within the loop of this figure five is divided into three great farms—­“gentlemen’s estates.”  The gentlemen are absentees all.

A most desirable neighborhood; the only traces of democracy on the river road are the schoolhouse and the cemetery.  Malvern and Brookfield were owned respectively by two generals, gallant soldiers of the Civil War, successful lawyers, since, of New York City.  Stately, high-columned Colonial houses, far back from the road; the clustered tenant houses, the vast barns, long red tobacco sheds—­all are eloquent of a time when lumber was the cheapest factor of living.

The one description serves for the two farms.  These men had been boys together, their careers the same; they had married sisters.  But the red tobacco sheds of Malvern were only three hundred feet long—­this general had left a leg at Malvern Hill—­while the Brookfield sheds stretched full five hundred feet.  At Brookfield, too, were the great racing-stables, of fabulous acreage; disused now and falling to decay.  One hundred and sixty thoroughbreds had sheltered here of old, with an army of grooms and trainers.  There had been a race-track—­an oval mile at first, a kite-shaped mile in later days.  Year by year now sees the stables torn down and carted away for other uses, but the strong-built paddocks remain to witness the greatness of days departed.

Nearest to Vesper, on the smallest of the three farms, stood the largest of the three houses—­The Meadows; better known as the Mitchell House.

McClintock, a foreigner from Philadelphia, married a Mitchell in ’67.  A good family, highly connected, the Mitchells; brilliant, free-handed, great travelers; something wildish, the younger men—­boys will be boys.

In a silent, undemonstrative manner of his own McClintock gathered the loose money in and about Vesper; a shrewd bargainer, ungiven to merrymakings; one who knew how to keep dollars at work.  It is worthy of note that no after hint of ill dealing attached to these years.  In his own bleak way the man dealt justly; not without a prudent liberality as well.  For debtors deserving, industrious, and honest, he observed a careful and exact kindness, passing by his dues cheerfully, to take them at a more convenient season.  Where death had been, long sickness, unmerited misfortune—­he did not stop there; advancing further sums for a tiding-over, after careful consideration of needs and opportunities, coupled with a reasonable expectation of repayment; cheerfully taking any security at hand, taking the security of character as cheerfully when he felt himself justified; in good time exacting his dues to the last penny—­still cheerfully.  Not heartless, either; in cases of extreme distress—­more than once or twice—­McClintock had both written off the obligation and added to it something for the day’s need, in a grim but not unkindly fashion; always under seal of secrecy.  No extortioner, this; a dry, passionless, pertinacious man.