“What is it, a snake?” yelled the farmer, jumping backward as the scientist dashed at him with a wild expression.

“No, sir, but a remarkably fine specimen of what appears to be a granolithic substance,” exclaimed the professor, and he began energetically chipping at a rock upon which the farmer had been standing.

“Crazy as a loon,” declared the farmer, winking at his men.  “Gets nearly drowned in a well and then begins chopping at a rock as soon as he gets out.”

“Oh, this has been a lucky day for me,” said the professor with huge satisfaction, as he placed his latest acquisition in the satchel.  “As fine a specimen, boys, as ever I encountered,” he declared, turning to the boys.

“Gracious,” exclaimed Tom and Dick in low tones, “does he call getting chased by a bull and then tumbling down a well a satisfactory day?”

“I should call it a rocky time,” grinned Dick.

But at this moment further conversation was cut short by the sudden arrival of a gray-haired, short little old man with a tuft of gray whiskers on his chin.

“Josh Crabtree!” exclaimed the red-faced farmer.

“Wow! now the music starts,” declared Dick.

Josh Crabtree, his face ablaze, and his small, malignant eyes sparkling angrily, emitted a roar like that of his Holstein that had caused the professor so much tribulation.

“Say, be you the pesky varmints that tore down my fence and scared my bull out’n two years’ growth?” he bellowed.

“I removed some stones from your fence, sir,” said the professor, “but it was in the interests of science.  You may not have been aware of it, but embedded in your enclosing structure was a fine specimen of green granite.”

“Great hopping water-melyuns!” roared Old Crabtree, “and you tore down my fence to git at a pesky bit of rock?”

“Rock to you, sir,” responded the scientist calmly, “like the man in the poem a ’primrose by the river’s brim, a yellow primrose is to you, and it is nothing more.’”

“Dad rot yer yaller primroses,” yelled Old Crabtree, dancing about in his rage.  “You make good for tearing down my fence, d’ye hear me?”

“I shall take great pleasure in forwarding you a check for any damage I may have done,” said the professor.

“I want ther money now,” said the farmer truculently.

“I regret that I have left my wallet at home,” said the professor.  Then he brightened suddenly.  “I can leave my bag of specimens with you as security,” he said, “if you will promise to be careful with them.”

He unslung his bag and tendered it to the angry farmer who received it with a look of amazement that the next moment turned to wrath when he saw its contents.

“By hickory, what kind of a game is this?” he demanded.  “Nothing but a lot of old rocks.  By heck, thar’s enough here to build a new fence!”

He flung the bag down indignantly just as the professor darted forward with one of his odd, swift movements.  He shoved Old Crabtree back without ceremony and bending swiftly to the spot where the angry farmer had been standing he picked up and pocketed a small rock.