Hiram did not know whether the man was all together in earnest, or not; but he had to laugh at this last statement. "It ain't no laughing matter," Yancey Battick said, wagging his head. "My old horse got a nail in his hoof and I greased it well. Hanged if the rascals didn't near eat him up in one night. If he hadn't kicked and snorted so and woke me up, I guess they would have had the most of him eaten before morning." "But what brings them into the house--and so bold? You must be on the watch for them continually." "I am. Jase Oakley is right. I am afraid of the things. I scarcely dare leave the house because of them--" He halted. Hiram knew instinctively that the man thought he had said too much. He had verged on some secret, the mystery of which the youth had felt to be in the very air of the house since he had entered it. He saw that Battick was eyeing him again in his suspicious, if not ugly, way, so he hastily asked: "Did you learn to shoot on the fly like that by shooting rats?" "Oh, I knew how to use a gun before I came to Pringleton." "You've got good eyesight. I did not see that rat at all." "I saw the glint of his eyes under the bench." Battick was again giving his attention to the preparations for supper. "I've got so I am continually on the watch for the rascals." And he did not dare leave the house because of them! Then, decided Hiram Strong, there was something in the house that he feared the rats would destroy. Hiram looked under the odd box in the middle of the room at the little heap of grain that lay there. Wheat! A special kind of wheat! The seed-boxes on the bench told something. Hiram could guess more. But he said nothing at the moment. In fact Yancey Battick was scarcely a man to whom one would address a personal remark or ask a direct question about himself or his affairs. Yancey Battick brought a small stand from one corner of the room and set it before the fire. He spread a clean, if coarse, cloth upon it, and then the tableware, such as a camper would use. The smoking food, together with a pot of coffee, came on the table, and Battick beckoned Hiram to draw up his chair. "This is mighty good of you, Mr. Battick," the visitor said, "especially when I know you do not make a practice of harboring wayfarers." "I hope I shall not be sorry for having befriended you," the man said gloomily. "I assure you--" "You couldn't assure me of anything," interrupted Battick. "I have had sufficient experience to make me a thorough pessimist. You look like a nice young fellow; but I shall not be surprised if I am, in the end, very sorry that I took you in." "Even to save me from the clutches of Miss Delia Pringle?" the visitor suggested slyly. There came a sudden twinkle into Yancey Battick's eye. Whether or not he was a monomaniac on some subject (and Hiram Strong was tempted to believe he was) it was evident that the man appreciated a joke. He nodded his appreciation of Hiram's words.