But Kingfisher was too far away to hear either of them. Even if he had, he would not have dared to stop. His fright was so great that he never got over it. Ever since, the feathers of his head have remained on end, and his voice, save for that terrified rattle, is gone. Listen some day, if you will, as long as you wish, and you will hear him make no other sound. Some say--but, let us not repeat it unless we are sure--that he has never recovered his mind. Certainly, as we see him sitting on the dead willow hour after hour, gazing into the water, he does seem a little peculiar. But, perhaps, he is only trying to rid himself of the remembrance of his narrow escape from that frightful monster which he found occupying his home. [Illustration] LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS BY ELIZABETH LINCOLN GOULD CHAPTER IX HIRAM SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Polly Prentiss is an orphan who, for the greater part of her life, has lived with a distant relative, Mrs. Manser, the mistress of Manser Farm. Miss Hetty Pomeroy, a maiden lady of middle age, has, ever since the death of her favorite niece, been on the lookout for a little girl whom she might adopt. She is attracted by Polly’s appearance and quaint manners, and finally decides to take her home and keep her for a month’s trial. In the foregoing chapters, Polly has arrived at her new home, and the great difference between the way of living at Pomeroy Oaks and her past life affords her much food for wonderment. Polly went down the steps and along the driveway to the barn. Hiram was sitting on a long bench just inside the door, rubbing and polishing some silvery bells. He looked at Polly with a broad and hospitable smile. “It appeared to me ’twas about time we got acquainted,” he remarked, sociably. “I had some expectations you might drop in on me come milking time last night, but I suppose you had other engagements. Can you spare time to sit awhile? Your friends seem to feel to home,” said Hiram, with a wave of his hand toward Snip and Snap, who had followed Polly and were racing up the steep stairs to the hay loft. “I can stay till Miss Pomeroy wants me,” said Polly, delightedly, as she slid onto the end of the bench. “Is there room for me here, Mr. Hiram?” [Illustration: IS THERE ANY ROOM FOR ME HERE?] “Let’s see,” said Hiram, gravely, taking a foot rule from his pocket and measuring the distance between Polly and some bells lying beside him on the bench. “There’s most a yard leeway; if you don’t wriggle more’n twelve inches this way there’ll be no trouble.” Hiram closed the rule and put it in his pocket. As he did this Polly heard a subdued chuckle. She clasped her arms about her knees and rocked back and forth on the fence, laughing gayly. “Oh, you’re some like Uncle Sam Blodgett!” she cried, as Hiram looked at her in pretended alarm. “That’s the way he used to talk to me, all solemn, but with the fun inside of him. Oh, I like folks that talk like you and Uncle Blodgett!”