He wasn’t “so very busy just then,” he said, and had come to see if they “mightn’t like to have a little hauling done when their furniture came.” Ruth thought that her father had arranged with Mr. Still to have it done. “I ain’t particularly busy jest now, and I’d take feed along—I jest thought I’d like to be neighborly,” repeated the man. “Hiram, I s’pect, he’s chargin’ you some’n?” Ruth supposed so. “Well, if he ain’t directly, he will some way. The best way to pay Hiram is to pay him right down.” He asked Ruth if she would mind his going in and looking at the house, and, when she assented, he walked around silently, looking at the two rooms which she showed him: their sitting-room and her father’s room; then asked if he could not look into the other room also. This was Ruth’s chamber, and for a second she hesitated to gratify curiosity carried so far; but reflecting that he was a plain countryman, and might possibly misunderstand her refusal and be wounded, she nodded her assent, and stepped forward to open the door. He opened it himself, however, and walked in, stepping on tip-toe. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked about him, his gaze resting presently on a nail driven into a strip in the Avail just beside the bed. “I was born in this here room,” he said, as much to himself as to her; then, after a pause: “right in that thar cornder—and my father was born in it before me and his father befo’ him, and to think that Hiram owns it! Hiram Still! Well—well—things do turn out strange—don’t they? Thar’s the very nail my father used to hang his big silver watch on. I b’lieve I’d give Hiram a hoss for that nail, ef I knowed where I could get another one to plough my crop.” He walked up and put his hand on the nail, feeling it softly. Then walked out. “Thankee, miss. Will you tell yo’ pa, Sergeant Stamper’d be glad to do what he could for him, and ef he wants him jist to let him know?” He had gone but a few steps, when he turned back: “And will you tell him I say he’s got to watch out for Hiram?” The next moment he was gone, leaving Ruth with a sinking feeling about her heart. What could he mean? She had not long to think of it, however, for just then she heard the sound of wheels grinding along outside, and she looked out of the door just as a rickety little wagon drew up to the door. She recognized the driver as Miss Cary and walked out to meet her. Beside Blair in the wagon sat, wrapped up in shawls, though the day was warm, an elderly lady with a faded face, but with very pleasant eyes, looking down at Ruth from under a brown veil. Ruth at first supposed that she was Blair’s mother, but Blair introduced her as “Cousin Thomasia.” As they helped the lady out of the vehicle, Ruth was amused at the preparation she made. Every step she took she gave some explanation or exclamation, talking to herself, it appeared, rather than to either of the girls.