The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

GILSTON FARM By Kathryn Carter T he yard smells of orange blossom. A tangle of black caps mats the hillside to the west under the lilacs, the dogwoods, the apple trees, some maple, and oak. This morning, robinsong drowns out the clucking chickens who map dumb pathways on the flats that hold the river and the house. The catbirds make noise in the lower field. Such a good day; the sweet scent of hay drifting from the farm on Washington. A large motor car rumbles down Mile Hill, the old mining road, slowing to take a look at his property; it is 1