The note of ill temper in the voice was so apparent that Dale hesitated for a second longer. Then, with a determined movement of his head, he set his stick against the door-casing, picked up the basket, and stepped into the kitchen. It was a long, low room, the walls and ceiling painted a dirty gray. Two of the three windows were tightly shuttered, so that Dale could barely make out the bent figure seated in a rocking-chair beside a rusty, decrepit cook-stove. At his entrance the three dogs began to bark again, but old Grimstone silenced them with a fierce gesture that sent them cowering under a table. "What d' you want?" he demanded, glaring at the boy from under bushy brows. "I don't want to buy nothin', so you'd better git out." "I haven't anything--for sale," returned the boy, finding it a little difficult to explain his errand. "It--it's your Thanksgiving dinner." "Dinner!" snapped the old man. "What are you talkin' about? I ain't ordered nothin' from town." "I know you haven't. It's one of the baskets from the church. I--I heard you'd had an accident and were all alone, so I--I thought I'd bring it out." For a moment the old man sat silent, his hard, glinting eyes, full of sour suspicion, fixed on the boy's face. "What for?" he demanded suddenly. "What for?" repeated Dale, puzzled. "Yes; what for? What d' you expect to git out of it? You ain't toted a basketful o' truck all the way out here jest out of regard for me, I reckon. Who sent ye?" Dale flushed, and unconsciously drew himself up a little. "Nobody," he returned briefly. "I'm a boy scout. We--we try to do a good turn for somebody every day." Old Grimstone bent slightly forward, staring in a puzzled fashion at the trim, khaki-clad figure before him. His right arm, bulky with bandages and splints, was strapped tightly to his body; the other hand, gnarled and brown, with blue veins showing here and there, gripped the arm of the rocker. There was suspicion still in his glance, but back of it was the look of one groping dimly for something he could not understand. Suddenly he straightened with a jerk. "Wal, set it down somewheres, then!" he growled ungraciously. "I ain't an object o' charity yet, but if you're bound to leave it, I s'pose I can use it somehow. You'd better be startin' back right away or you'll miss your dinner." Dale placed the basket on a table and commenced to remove the paper. "I'm not going back yet," he explained cheerfully. "I'm going to stay and cook it for you." For a moment there was silence. Then the old man grunted inarticulately; it might have been with surprise, or incredulity, or almost any other emotion. Dale's back was toward him, so he could not tell, but since there was no actual prohibition, he proceeded with the unpacking.