"These lice," Hiram observed thoughtfully, "feed on the leaves of the wheat plant until the grain commences to head. Then they assemble on the heads among the ripening kernels. When the grain ripens they migrate to various grasses, the book says, and manage to live until fall when the new wheat is sown and appears. But we had nothing like them here on Sunnyside last year." "Nor did I see any on my patch," muttered Battick. "I tell you they were sown here recently." "Oh!" exclaimed the sharp-eyed girl from Scoville. "What is this?" She sprang forward and picked out of the tall and robust wheat several withered wheat-straws that were about half developed. She gave them to Hiram. "Did you pull up any plants besides those you brought to me, Mr. Battick?" asked the young farm manager, curiously examining the wilted plants. "No. And, say, those are not my wheat! Don't you see, Strong? The straw is entirely different, nor is it as well developed as the straw standing on this piece." "That is what I saw," Sister said softly. "It is not the same plant as this handsome wheat." "You've got sharp eyes, Sister Cheltenham," declared Miss Pringle. "Hasn't she, Hiram?" "Never mind all that!" snapped Battick, interrupting crossly. "What do you think about this, Strong? Somebody brought those straws with the living insects on them and tossed them in among this wheat." "It would seem so," Hiram admitted. "The villains! It is no more than what I have expected all along. And you and Bronson would not believe me. Now what do you think?" "I think somebody has it in for us," Hiram frankly said. "This was deliberately a malicious act." "If it was any of those Bankses they ought to be horsewhipped!" declared Miss Pringle. "Has Adam been home of late?" asked Hiram. "I don't know," replied the spinster. "But I bet he has." "We shall have to watch this field night and day now till the grain is ripe," Battick declared moodily. "But first of all we must get rid of this pest." "Can you do that?" asked Sister. "Never was anything so bad that it could not be worse," declared the young manager of Sunnyside Farm sententiously. "These flies have only just begun their nefarious work. There must be some way of stopping them." "How will you do that, Hiram?" Miss Pringle demanded. "When the striped bugs get on my melon vines they're gone, and that's all there is to it!" "Every blade and ear on which the louse has fastened itself must be destroyed. We must be ruthless in rooting the plague out." Battick groaned aloud. He hated to think of losing a single grain of the new wheat. "How are you going to do it?" he asked. "It must be pulled up and burned. And this may not be the only spot where the pest was thrown." "I'll look all around the field," Battick said eagerly. "You don't see any place where the scoundrel has walked into the wheat to spread the pest, do you?" "No. He probably did nothing to trample down the wheat and so reveal to us where he had worked.