He included Lettie in this invitation and hoped that she would come; but the girl tossed her head, although it was with a smile that she refused. "That is all I hear--farming," she said. "Now that I have finished school I think papa ought to take me to some summer resort this year. I'm tired of Plympton." "Wait till you are grown up, Lettie," said Mr. Bronson carelessly. "If I'm not grown up yet, when shall I be?" asked the girl. "I'll soon be an old maid like Delia Pringle." Mr. Bronson and Hiram laughed at this statement. But the latter felt that Lettie was more in earnest than her father considered. St. Beris seemed to develop its pupils rather early. Hiram was glad that Sister did not attend that school--not, however, that he really compared Sister to Lettie Bronson in any way! However, Lettie Bronson went over to call on Miss Pringle while her father and Hiram started down the road toward Battick's place. From every drain the water was still pouring into the roadside ditch, but of course not in the volume it had the night before. Mr. Bronson cheered up immediately when he saw this. "And not a puddle in sight on the whole twenty acres! Well, Hiram, it looks as though you had done a good job here--and saved me money. We won't worry over the dead yearlings. That you certainly could not help. The tree you tell about must have fallen in the midst of the herd. It is fortunate no more of them were killed. "One of my neighbors near Plympton had his barn torn to pieces last night and all his cattle killed. Who else suffered around here?" "I am not sure that anybody suffered much damage by the tornado, but Yancey Battick lost his stack of wheat--and it was a wonder of a stack!" "Did he have much?" "It was the handsomest wheat I ever saw," Hiram told him earnestly. "I want to show you a sample of it that he gave me, Mr. Bronson. I think there would have been thirty-five or forty bushels of it when it was thrashed." "Humph! At the price wheat is going to be--" "He has got a new variety and had raised it for seed," Hiram explained. When they got back to the farm buildings he showed his employer the heads of grain Battick had given him. They shelled out the wheat. Every grain of it was perfect, with the tiny red stripe upon one side. Hiram watched Mr. Bronson's face with interest as the big farmer examined the kernels of wheat. "My goodness, Hiram!" exclaimed the man at last, "do you mean to say that Battick had bred this wheat--that it is all alike?" "I have every reason to believe it is all fully as good as that in your hand and true to type." "And he's lost it all?" "He has lost his crop for this year. He believes the stack was set on fire." "No!" "Yes, sir. And you cannot blame him after what he has been through. Let me tell you, Mr. Bronson." They sat down and Hiram related the details of the story Yancey Battick had told him, as well as of his own adventures with the strange man.