It was a fight to keep Battick from slipping over the Border. Hiram, or Orrin, or Jim Larry was at the house all the time. Miss Pringle remained night and day. Other neighbors showed an interest in the queer man and Mr. Bronson sent up everything that might be needed and which Battick and his neighbors might not possess when he became convalescent.
Mr. Bronson had been over-urged again by Lettie, and they were going to Florida for the season.
"Of course, if anything happens to Battick—if he dies—let me know by telegraph," Mr. Bronson told Hiram. "Being his partner in that wheat growing deal gives me a personal interest in the poor fellow."
"And me, too," agreed Hiram. "I will look out for him—and for the wheat too."
Battick did not wholly forget his precious wheat, and the day after Hiram had found him so ill he recognized the young farmer and earnestly begged him to bring the remaining seed of the new wheat into his bedroom and hang it in a bag above the foot of the bed where Battick could see it.
"If anything should happen to that in the ground," the sick man whispered, "I'd still have a chance."
But the wheat in the ground—not only Yancey Battick's but all the wheat on Sunnyside, gave promise of good growth when the spring should open. There was some snow for a cover during the coldest weather; but most of the storms were of rain and wind. Hiram was growing hungry for the spring. He watched anxiously for the earliest moment when he could get the plow into the ground for oats.
Battick was convalescing when this first plowing began. Miss Pringle had ministered to him so faithfully that, crank though he was, the hermit could but speak well of her at last. Yet—
"She is a nuisance to have around—all women are," he grumbled to Hiram. "She's cleaned and scoured this room—even my workbench—till I know I can't find half my things. There isn't anything in its right place. But she has nursed me faithfully and won't take a cent's pay—"
"Great goodness, man! you didn't offer her money?" Hiram gasped.