and in a thick, guttural German asked, "Who are you?"

The stranger shut the door and drew the bolt. He crossed the room and, with an air of one who was accustomed to having his own way wherever he went, scanned the shelves of Peter's larder with a practiced eye.

Peter watched him closely as he drew down a bottle of wine, broke the neck against a beam above him, and settled down in Peter's easy chair. He poured a glass full and shoved it across the table towards the anxious Peter, and then poured another glass for himself.

"Mirestone," the stranger finally answered, "Martin G. Mirestone." Then, draining his glass, he added, "Student of German history."

All this was beyond Peter's comprehension. No one ever had the audacity to walk into his house and help himself to whatever he wanted—he was indeed unheard of in his tiny social world.

"Well, what are you staring at?" Mirestone boomed out. "Take my cloak, please, then be seated. We'll talk."

Taking the cloak and draping it over a wooden peg in the wall, Peter moved cautiously around the foreboding character that monopolized his small house. Carefully seating himself opposite the man, he moved the table so that it set between them as a protective barrier.

"I'll make myself clear to you," Mirestone explained, "For I want my stay to be as brief as possible."

He poured himself another glass of wine, then settled back in the chair, half closing his eyes. "You see, I am a student, you might say, of German history or folklore. I am in the process of writing a collective history of the Pennsylvania Dutch folk, their habits, beliefs, and—" he broke off for an instant as he leaned forward across the table, staring into the frightened eyes of Peter "—and their superstitions."

Shifting his chair around in order to get benefit from the heat of the fireplace, Mirestone went on. "Now I want facts, Scheinberger, authentic facts. I am prepared to pay you well for your trouble, but I insist on information that is backed up with sound, accurate truth."

Peter became more relaxed but still slightly uneasy. He didn't like the attitude of this man, Mirestone. He was too sure of himself—altogether too cocky. But then on the other hand he had said there would be a financial gain from any business that he could transact with him. Money was something 

 Prev. P 3/12 next