It was no mere ragged and unsightly drain for water
from the higher land. Flower-brightened and vine-hung, it was
deliciously cool, and gorgeous at every turn. At the bottom babbled a
rivulet, a bit of summer sky melted and poured among the green-tipped
rocks. Blooming shrubs in the giant's garden, the saplings seemed; and
hither came the birds to make their nests and to nod with half-shut eyes
in the drowsy afternoon. But after passing through this elbow corridor,
there were bare rocks, standing bold in the sun or bleak in the wind,
and here was a log hut almost hidden by bushes. It was called the mill,
and corn was ground there, but the meal was boiled in a great iron
kettle. It was Old Jasper's distillery. After leaving the house he went
up to this place, and in front of his picturesque though illegitimate
establishment, he sat down upon a stone to muse over his coming danger.
In Jasper Starbuck there was a force which, directed by education, would
have made of him a leader of men. Once a neighbor had threatened to
report him to the government, and in the night Jasper went to the house
of his enemy, called him to the door, showed him a rope, and without
saying a word went away.
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