The lack of a fire was the thing that bugged him most when Time brought him back. He had to be held captive for a time, of course, when he first was brought here-closely watched over; if not actually confined. But when he became his own master, so to speak, he got hold of a piece of land out at the edge of the campus and built himself the shack. Rough, the way he wanted it. And, of course, a fireplace. And a garden. You should see his garden. The idea of growing food was something new to him. Something that no one back in his day had ever thought about. Nails and saws and hammers, and even lumber, also were new to him, as was everything. But he was highly adaptable. He took to the new tools and ideas without a single hitch. Nothing astonished him. He used hammer and saw and lumber and all the rest of it to build the shack. But I think it was the garden that seemed the most wonderful to him-to grow one's food and not hunt for it. I suppose you noticed-even now he is impressed with the sheer bulk and the easy availability of food."

"And of liquor," said Carol.

Maxwell laughed. "Another new idea that he took to. A hobby of his, you might almost say. He makes his own. He's got a still out in the back of his woodshed and he runs off some of the worst moonshine that ever trickled down your throat. Pretty vile stuff."

"But not to guests," said Carol. "That was whiskey tonight."

"You have to be a friend of his," said Maxwell, "before he'll allow you to drink his moon. Those fruit jars he set out ..."

"I wondered about those. They seemed to have nothing in them."

"Clear, rotgut moonshine, that was what was in them."

"You said he was a captive once. And now? Just how closely is he tied to Time?"

"A ward of the college. Not really tied at all. But you couldn't drive him off. He's a more loyal partisan of Time than you are."