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He made tracks for a dinky engine that was hitched to a load of empties. “You mean you can come to Crossways?” “I hope so,” Bob answered. “Won’t you?”.
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Conrad
“I live over the hill there,” answered the other boy. “Dad’s a stock raiser. You can see the house from the river after you get down a little further. I sneaked away from my old man this morning to see if I could get a few fish. They aren’t biting very good here, though,” he concluded. “I wish I had a boat, because I know of a peach of a place—” Immediately the button was forgotten, for an idea had come to him. He would burn down the door! Mr. Hazard was as good as his word. The same night found him installed in the colonial house from which the great plantation of Crossways had formerly been managed. Now the plantation was a thing of memory only. Only the house and comparatively few cultivated acres remained of the once proud estate. Edward Moseley, the last of a long line, kept a school, which, primarily started for the benefit of his tenants’ children, had become so famous that boys from all parts of the country were now enrolled. “I’m afraid you’re right, Ted,” said Bob. “But I sure hate to think it.”.
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