"No," said Quincy, "I should never impute such a motive to you."
Quincy took a dollar bill from his pocket and held it up before Hiram.
"What's that?" he asked.
"That's one hundred cents," said Hiram, "considerably more than I have got."
"Well," said Quincy, "if you tell me why Miss Putnam doesn't like callers I will give you that dollar."
"Stop a minute," replied Hiram. "Soon as we turn this next corner we'll be in full sight of the grocery store. You can go ahead and I'll slip 'cross lots and come up from behind the store. If Wood thought I'd told you he would lick me and I'm no fighter. Now about Miss Putnam," dropping his voice, "I heard it said, and I guess it's pretty near the truth, that she is so blamed stuck up and dresses so fine in city fashions that she is just 'shamed of her old pa and ma and don't want nobody to see 'em."
"But," asked Quincy, "where did she get her money?"
Hiram answered, "From her only brother. He went down to Boston, made a pile of money, then died and left it all to Lindy. If what I've told you ain't gospel truth it's mighty near it. Well, I'll see you later, Mr. Sawyer."
And Hiram ran down a path that led across the fields.
Quincy turned the corner and walked briskly towards Hill's grocery store. A dozen or more young men and as many older ones were lounging about the platform that ran the whole length of the store, for it was a very mild day in January, and the snow was rapidly leaving under the influence of what might be called a January thaw.