"These lice," Hiram observed thoughtfully, "feed on the leaves of the wheat plant until the grain commences to head. Then they assemble on the heads among the ripening kernels. When the grain ripens they migrate to various grasses, the book says, and manage to live until fall when the new wheat is sown and appears. But we had nothing like them here on Sunnyside last year."
"Nor did I see any on my patch," muttered Battick. "I tell you they were sown here recently."
"Oh!" exclaimed the sharp-eyed girl from Scoville. "What is this?"
She sprang forward and picked out of the tall and robust wheat several withered wheat-straws that were about half developed. She gave them to Hiram.
"Did you pull up any plants besides those you brought to me, Mr. Battick?" asked the young farm manager, curiously examining the wilted plants.
"No. And, say, those are not my wheat! Don't you see, Strong? The straw is entirely different, nor is it as well developed as the straw standing on this piece."
"That is what I saw," Sister said softly. "It is not the same plant as this handsome wheat."
"You've got sharp eyes, Sister Cheltenham," declared Miss Pringle. "Hasn't she, Hiram?"
"Never mind all that!" snapped Battick, interrupting crossly. "What do you think about this, Strong? Somebody brought those straws with the living insects on them and tossed them in among this wheat."
"It would seem so," Hiram admitted.