I must make good at this job, and save ... my grandmother, who had sent me money the previous year, I must not call on her again.  And I did not count on my father ... for he was strenuously in the saddle to a grass widow, the one who had lured him to change boarding houses, and she was devouring his meagre substance like the Scriptural locust.

* * * * *

That first breakfast was a nightmare.  I “practised breakfast” from three o’clock till six ... by six I had started another breakfast, and by seven, after having spoiled and burned much food, I was tolerably ready for customers ... who seemed, at that hour, to storm the place.

* * * * *

It is not necessary to go into detail.  In three days I was through.  And I had my first fight with Barton.

* * * * *

I was back in my army tent once more, free, with my Shelley, my Keats, my manuscript....

In despair of ever returning to Hebron, once more I lay under starry nights, dreaming poetry and comparing myself to all the Great Dead....

With the top of the tent pulled back to let the stars in, I lay beneath the gigantic, marching constellations overhead—­under my mosquito netting—­and wrote poems under stress of great inspiration ... at times it seemed that Shelley was with me in my tent—­a slight, grey form ... and little, valiant, stocky Keats, too.

* * * * *

After my quarrel with Barton, he tried to oust me from that desirable site the Bishop’s wife had turned over to me ... indeed, he tried to persuade me to leave the colony.  But I would not stir.

There was a young fellow in the “City” named Vinton....  Vinton was the strong man of the place.  He spent three hours every morning exercising, in minute detail, every muscle of his body ... and he had developed beautiful muscles, each one of which stood out, like a turn in a rope, of itself.

Vinton was sent to oust me, by force if need be.

I really was afraid of him when he strode up to me, as I lay there reading the Revolt of Islam again.

With a big voice he began to hint, mysteriously, that it would be wise for me to clear out.  I showed him that I held a clear title and right to sojourn there till Christmas, if I chose to, as the bishop’s wife had paid for the site till that time, and had then transferred the use of the location to me.  I showed him her letter ... with the Tallahassee postmark.

His only answer was, that he knew nothing about that ... that Barton wanted the place, and, that if I wouldn’t vacate peaceably—­and he looked me in the eyes like some great, calm animal.

Though my heart was pounding painfully, against, it seemed, the very roof of my mouth, I compelled my eyes not to waver, but to look fiercely into his....

“Are you going to start packing?”