"He's got his mad up," remarked Young Nick to himself. "Stan' from
under!"
Nicholas strode through the crowd, and it separated to let him pass.
There was about him at that moment an amazing physical energy, apparent
even in the dark. He seemed a different man, and one woman whispered to
another, "Why, that can't be Mr. Oldfield! It's a head taller."
He walked across the green, and the crowd turned also, to follow him.
There, just opposite the church, lay his own Flat-Iron Lot, and he
stepped into it, over the low stone boundary, and turned about.
"Don't ye come no nearer," called he. "This is my land. Don't ye set
foot on it."
The Flat-Iron Lot was a triangular piece of ground, rich in drooping
elms, and otherwise varied only by a great boulder looming up within
the wall nearest the church. Nicholas paused for a moment where he was;
then with a thought of being the better heard, he turned, ran up the
rough side of the boulder, and faced his fellows. As he stood there,
illumined by the rising moon, he seemed colossal.
"He'll break his infernal old neck!" said Brad Freeman admiringly. But
no one answered, for Nicholas Oldfield had begun to speak.
"Don't ye set foot on my land!" he repeated.
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