Uncle Hiram merely nodded and started his car. Elizabeth Ann waited till he had passed the other car and then she touched him on the shoulder.
“Uncle Hiram,” she said in a low voice, as though she was afraid the other man might overhear, “Uncle Hiram, what is a varmint?”
“Eh, you’re awake then,” Uncle Hiram commented. “I thought you were having a fine nap. A varmint, my dear, is a low kind of animal—like a skunk or a weasel. Weasels, you know, steal chickens.”
“Why did the man want one then?” asked Elizabeth Ann.
“One what?” Uncle Hiram said, surprised.
“A varmint,” explained Elizabeth Ann. “He was looking for a varmint. I woke up when he was saying so.”
“I don’t wonder you woke up,” Uncle Hiram declared. “He had a voice like a buzz saw, and anyone who heard it would either wake up or have bad dreams. That man wasn’t looking for a varmint, my dear; that was just his way of describing a poor taken boy.”
Elizabeth Ann stood up. She always said she could think better standing up.
“Please, what is a taken boy?” she asked.
Uncle Hiram glanced over his shoulder.