Orrin in all this time had never mentioned his family, his friends, where he was born, or what his circumstances had been before he came to Sunnyside Farm. His having been driven away by his former employer when he was taken ill, was positively all the information he had vouchsafed. Hiram had learned that he had come through Pringleton the day he had arrived at Sunnyside. Previous to such arrival, however, Orrin Post's life was a total blank to the young farm manager. Hiram did not believe that Orrin's previous life had been a happy existence. It might be even that he had had trouble with the police, and for that reason was so close-mouthed. Nevertheless, Hiram kept such thoughts as this to himself. For his own part he accepted Orrin Post at his face value. The three young fellows at Sunnyside used the kitchen to cook and eat in, set up their cots in the dining room, and occasionally on a rainy day or on Sunday sat in the parlor, where they could watch the road through the broad windows. They were doing this last on one dripping Sunday afternoon, when Jim spied a vehicle coming up the hill from the direction of Battick's and Pringleton. He did not identify the horses or the man driving them. "Stranger in this neighborhood," he announced. "That fellow driving has got a bushel of whiskers on his face. Did you ever see the like?" Hiram was reading and did not even get up to look out. Orrin, however, examined the approaching turnout at some length, but he made no comment and finally drifted out of the room. Hiram heard him open and close the back door just as Jim exclaimed: "Hey! Old Whiskers is stopping here. He's waving his whip and calling. What do you suppose he wants, Mr. Strong?" Hiram put down his book. "The best way to find out is to ask him," he said laughing, and rose to go to the front door. CHAPTER XXIII AN INQUIRY The rain dripped from the porch roof and a curtain of drizzle fell between the house and the gate where the gray horses stood. The bewhiskered individual had a rubber blanket over his knees and the water dripped from the brim of his hat into his lap--just as it dripped from the roof over Hiram Strong's head. On the back seat of the old-fashioned carryall sat a second man. But Hiram could not see him very well at first. "Hey!" yelled the bewhiskered man, "you ain't all deaf in there, are you?" "Not all of us," replied Hiram. "I still have my hearing unimpaired. But 'hay' is for horses. It doesn't mean much to me. What do you want?" Suddenly the man in the rear seat of the vehicle thrust forward his head. He wore spectacles and was evidently no farmer. He demanded: "Have you any information of, or do you know anything personally about, Theodore, or Teddy, Chester, or a man calling himself by such name?" "Never heard of him," declared Hiram. "He is supposed to have come this way."