Hiram groaned inwardly. But he went in with her then and there and wrote out the agreement in duplicate, both signing the papers.
"Seems like a lot of folderol for ten or twenty dollars, Hiram," Miss Pringle whispered. "But, of course, I understand you have to have everything in writing to show Mr. Bronson. Mr. Bronson is a widower, and they do say widowers are awful strict and stern."
But Hiram did not immediately tell Mr. Bronson of the bargain he had made with Miss Pringle for the half-charred timber. However, he planned to start certain activities at Sunnyside the very next day, and he drove down to Pringleton to see if Mr. Oakley, the stationmaster, knew of any laborers in the neighborhood who wished work.
Coming back, he saw Mr. Yancey Battick leaning upon his sagging front gate. He had not seen the odd man to more than hail him since the time he had sojourned with him over night.
"Looks like spring now, doesn't it, Mr. Battick?" Hiram suggested, stopping his horse.
"I guess. And there's the first harbinger—a bluebird," and Battick pointed up the road.
"What's that? Bluebird?" Then Hiram laughed, seeing the individual to whom Battick referred. "The first tramp of the season?"
"Yes. And full as a tick, if I'm any judge," Battick said, with disgust.
The fellow up ahead was staggering as he walked, and there was reason for thinking that he was intoxicated.
"He won't get far in that shape," Hiram said.