In fact, Hiram had found a chance to pick up a pinch of the wheat corns from under the trough, and had the grain safely twisted up in a bit of paper in his pocket.
He knew better than to offer Mr. Battick anything like money in return for the queer hospitality the misanthrope had shown him. Hiram did, however, make one attempt to return something for the kindness.
"I see you have seed wheat in this box, Mr. Battick," he said. "If you wish to keep the rats out of it, I believe I can show you a wrinkle."
"You can?" rejoined Battick, watching him with keen suspicion again.
"You have a couple of old milk pans there and two wash basins. Invert a basin or a pan over each leg of that box and no rat can run up the leg and over the side of the box, or gnaw into it."
"I get you!" ejaculated Battick, seeing the point at once. "I believe that's a good idea, young fellow."
"I know it is," rejoined Hiram with confidence. "I built me a corncrib that way only last year. It surely gives Mr. Rat something new to think about."
He picked up his bag, shook hands with his odd host, and went out. It was a keen wind he faced as he started up the hill to Sunnyside Farm.
A jay winging its way from one wood to another, stopped upon a dead limb to stare curiously at the wayfarer. Then, with raucous cry, it disappeared in a piece of woodland that evidently belonged to the old farm that Yancey Battick had purchased from the terrible Miss Pringle. This windbreak divided the Battick place from Sunnyside.
While he was yet at some distance Hiram saw the burned ruins of the farmhouse on the hill and the barns and other outbuildings. All the arable land of Sunnyside seemed to lie on the south side of the road; and the slope of the fields was toward that same point of the compass.