Peter Grimes was exceedingly pleased with the success which had attended his quest for farm labor. His meeting with the young man from whom he had received little Mollie was wholly accidental but it insured a steady income for the future. For the time being, the ugly-dispositioned farmer was inclined to permit the little girl house privileges such as he deemed worthy of a well-paying guest. He had not planned to bring a girl into the establishment. Girls were useless and troublesome and no good at hog-raising. But the regular income offered by the young man he had encountered driving along the old, little-used road leading to the farm was too tempting to be refused. Upon acceptance of the child, Peter gave a post-office address to which remittances might be sent and the two men exchanged promises of secrecy. "I doan want no one knowin' I got young-uns on the place," explained Peter. "Them big-heads thet passed thet law agin lettin' hawgs run in th' woods ain't past interferin' with what a man does on his own lan'. I doan want no agents a-comin' up hyar a-rootin' 'round." The mustached individual in the buggy, who gave his name as Bailey, expressed much pleasure at hearing such sentiments. He agreed with Peter heartily. A man's house was his castle, he declared, and no one had a right to interfere with what he did there. He had a perfect right to house a dozen children if he so desired. All the way home Peter pondered that statement. He had started out with the intention of securing a charity child to help with chores about the place. He had made inquiry and been directed to a hotel where a wealthy woman guest was about to be removed to a hospital. She had been too ill to see him but a maid had assumed that he was a Mr. Connors whom they were expecting and who was going to conduct a small boy to a distant school. Peter, groping for words to explain matters, was incoherent. The maid was called away and Peter found himself alone with the boy, and a small hand bag beside him. The child looked sturdy and the maid had handed to Peter a roll of bills which she said were for traveling expenses. It seemed useless to prolong his stay in the city, so the hog farmer lost no time in starting homeward. The boy instinctively shrank from accompanying him but was too well trained to make open remonstrance. "I'm afraid there's some mistake," was all the little fellow said as he trudged off beside the cruel-visaged man at whom, from time to time, he stole cautious, thoughtful glances. It was while pausing to rest at a crossroads they were accosted by the man in the buggy. The latter's light remark about housing a dozen children gave Peter food for reflection. He fumbled the money in his pocket and gloated over its easy acquisition. If two children represented that much money, how much more might a dozen be reckoned to bring in? Deep in this fascinating problem he paid little heed to Mollie and Stephen for the first few hours.