I kept out of their sight,
because I knew they were the kind of men who would laugh at me. They
couldn't understand, and, of course, I couldn't explain. Yesterday
morning I found a sort of map on the floor under young Paul's
washstand. The wind had blown it off the table by the window and he
hadn't missed it. It was in lead pencil and looked like a map of the
roads around here. I couldn't read the notations, but it required only
a glance to convince me that this place was the central point. All of
the little mountain roads were there, and the cross-roads. There
wasn't anything queer about it, so I laid it on his table and put a
book on it.
"This afternoon I walked up in the woods back of the Tavern to go over
some lines in a new piece we are to do later on,--God knows when! I
could see the house from where I was sitting. Roon's windows were
plainly visible. I wasn't very far away, you see, the climb being too
steep for me. I saw Roon standing at a window looking toward the
cross-roads with a pair of field-glasses. Every once in awhile he
would turn to Paul, who stood beside him with a notebook, and say
something to him. Paul wrote it down. Then he would look again,
turning the glasses this way and that.
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