"Who's got all that land stretching away there; that little blunted
sierra of pines and escarpments I mean?"
My father halted for an instant in his answer, and glanced over his
shoulder.
"Wardingham and Baxter share all those coppices," he remarked. "They
come up to my corner on each side."
"But the dark heather and pine land beyond. With just the gables of a
house among the trees."
"Oh? _that_," he said with a careful note of indifference.
"That's--Justin. You know Justin. He used to come to Burnmore Park."