He had a red, guileless face and white hair. The face held a look of childish interest as they drew up. “You got him?” he asked. The service man shook his head, jerking his thumb at the racer that came behind. “Got the car,” he said. “He got off--took to the woods.” “That so?” The old man came out to the road and looked with curious eyes at the big racing-machine coming up. “What’d he do?” he asked. “He stole my machine,” said the white-capped man quickly. He was holding the wheel with a careful touch. The old man looked at him with shrewd, smiling eyes--chewing at some invisible cud. The service man nodded to him, “There’ll be a reward out for him, Jimmie--keep a watch out. You may have a chance at it. He’s hiding somewhere over there.” He motioned toward the distant wood. The old man turned a slow eye toward the west. “I don’t own no telescope,” he said quaintly. He shifted the cud a little, and gazed at the plain around them--far as the eye could see, it stretched on every side. Only the little, white house stood comfortably in its midst--open to the eye of heaven. It was a rambling, one story and a half house, with no windows above the ground floor--except at the rear, where one window, under a small peak, faced the north. Beyond the house, in that direction, lay lines of market garden--and beyond the garden the wide plain. Two men, at work in the garden, hoed with long, easy strokes that lengthened in the slanting light. The service man looked at them with casual eye. “Got good help this year?” he asked. The old man faced about, and his eye regarded them mildly. “Putty good,” he said, “they’re my sister’s boys. She died this last year--along in April--and they come on to help. Yes, they work putty good.” “They drove in ahead of us, didn’t they?” asked the service man, with sudden thought. The old man smiled drily. “Didn’t know’s you see ’em. You were so occupied. Yes--they’d been in to sell the early potatoes. I’ve got a putty good crop this year--early potatoes. They went in to make a price on ’em. We’ll get seventy-five if we take ’em in to-morrow--and they asked what to do--and I told ’em they better dig.” He chuckled slowly. The service man smiled. “You keep ’em moving, don’t you, Jimmie!” He glanced at the house. “Any trade? Got a license this year?” The old man shook his head. “Bone dry,” he said, chewing slowly. “Them cars knocked _me_ out!” He came and stood by the racer, running his hand along it with childish touch.