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Now, old Sir George Rodney, grandfather of the present baronet, had two sons, Geoffrey and George. Now, Geoffrey he loved, but George he hated. And so great by years did this hatred grow that after a bit he sought how he should leave the property away from his eldest-born, who was George, and leave it to Geoffrey, the younger,—which was hardly fair; for "what," says Aristotle, "is justice?—to give every man his own." And surely George, being the elder, had first claim. The entail having been broken during the last generation, he found this easy to accomplish; and so after many days he made a will, by which the younger son inherited all, to the exclusion of the elder.,"Most fortunate," says Rodney, with deep gravity. "I consider I have been the means of preventing a public calamity. Why, that bird might have haunted us later on.",At the time appointed all the tribe came together and pitched their lodges in a great circle, and within this circle the Medicine Lodge was built. The ceremony lasted for four days and four nights, during which time the woman who had promised to make the Medicine Lodge neither ate nor drank, except once in sacrifice. Different stories are told of how the first Medicine Lodge came to be built. This is one of those stories:,"What a very charming dairy!" he says, mildly.,"Why, Spice, of course," opening her eyes. "Didn't you know. Why, what else could I mean?","Some other day you can do that. Now go," says Mona, imperiously, waving her hand.,"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, but is full of reckless defiance. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square accounts with you.","It was Tim Ryan," returns Mona, wearily, feeling unequal to a long story just at present.,So the grudge, being well watered, grew and flourished, and at last, as I said, the old man made a will one night, in the presence of the gardener and his nephew, who witnessed it, leaving all he possessed—save the title and some outside property, which he did not possess—to his younger son. And, having made this will, he went to his bed, and in the cold night, all alone, he died there, and was found in the morning stiff and stark, with the gay spring sunshine pouring in upon him, while the birds sang without as though to mock death's power, and the flowers broke slowly into life.,"You are sure?"—doubtfully.,Or cattle faintly lowing:,"You may as well call it a train; people like it better," says Geoffrey. "I'm sure I don't know why, but perhaps it sounds better.".