“Guess we’re going to have a thunder shower,” I remarked.  “Hope it holds off.  I don’t want to get wet.”

“Then you’ll have to hurry,” rejoined the woman as she looked out of the door.  “Looks as if it would be here in less than quarter of an hour.”

“Then I’m off.  Good day.”

“Good day.  Come again.”

I slipped out of the door, and passing behind a hedge, made my way to the road.  As I did so, Mr. Woodward and Stumpy turned from the highway and walked directly up the gravel path that led to the house!

I was dumfounded by this movement.  What did they mean by going to the very place I had just vacated?  Was it possible they had seen me?

I earnestly hoped not; for if so, it would spoil a little plan that had just come to me, which was to follow them, see what they were up to, and, if possible, overhear whatever might be said.

I was soon convinced that neither of the men was aware of my presence.  They were talking earnestly and stepped up on the porch just as ordinary visitors would have done.  In a moment the woman let them in and the door closed behind them.

My curiosity was aroused to its highest pitch, and at the risk of being discovered by any one who might chance to be passing by I walked cautiously back along the hedge until I reached a clump of rose bushes that grew directly under one of the dining-room windows.

The window was open, and by a little manoeuvring I easily managed to see and hear what was going on within.

“You came for the rent, I suppose, Mr. Woodward,” the woman was saying.  “Joel was going to bring it up to-night.  He would have brought it over this morning, only he thought it was going to rain and he had some hay he wanted to get in.”

“Yes, I did come for the rent, Mrs. Decker,” replied the merchant.  “It’s due several days now.”

“I have it here—­ thirty dollars.  Here is the receipt book.”

There was the rustle of bills and the scratching of a pen.

“Here you are, Mrs. Decker.”

“Thank you, sir.  Now we’ll be worry free for another month.”

“So you are.  Nothing like being prompt.”

“My husband was going to speak to you about the roof.  It leaks dreadfully.”

“Pooh!  That can’t be.  Why, it was patched only two years ago.”

“You are wrong, Mr. Woodward.  It is four years, and then but very little was done to it.”

“It cost near twelve dollars,” growled the merchant.  “You can’t expect me to be fixing up the house all the time.”

“It leaks very badly.”

“Then your husband will have to attend to it.  I can’t spend any more money this year.”

“I don’t know what we’ll do.  I wish you would just step outside and look up at the shingles.  Nearly all of them are ready to fall off.”

I was alarmed by Mrs. Decker’s request.  Suppose the trio should come out?  I would surely be discovered.  But my fears were groundless, as the next words of Mr. Woodward proved.