"Then there is something wrong with him," Miss Pringle declared. "Something that he's ashamed of."
"You are jumping at a conclusion there, that may not be correct," Hiram said. "At any rate I saw nothing really wrong with Mr. Battick. And I feel grateful for his hospitality."
"Well, now, Mr. Strong," the woman said quickly, "you bring your bag right over to the house and stop with me till Mr. Bronson can make other arrangements for you."
"You are more than kind," Hiram told her. "But I understand that I may be able to go to housekeeping on my own account in one of the sheds—where the former tenant of the farm ran his incubators and brooders."
"That Jim Brandenburg! He made me a lot of trouble. But he did have ideas about hens. I suppose that shed could be made comfortable for you if Mr. Bronson wants you right on the place."
"I will try 'baching it,' Miss Pringle," Hiram said with firmness.
"Well, just as you say. But I want you to come over to-day to dinner. You ain't prepared to go right to housekeeping, I'm sure."
"Thank you; I will certainly come," Hiram assured her.
"Do so," Miss Pringle said warmly, as she turned away. "Abigail will blow the horn when it's ready."
He thanked her again. The terrible Miss Pringle did not prove to be so very formidable after all. It was evident that Battick had gained just as wrong an idea about his neighbors as the neighbors had about him.