Jirad Tisalver of the Dahl Sector was short. The top of his head came up only to Hari Seldon’s nose. He did not seem to take that to heart, however. He had handsome, even features, was given to smiling, and sported a thick black mustache and crisply curling black hair.

He lived, with his wife and a half-grown daughter, in an apartment of seven small rooms, kept meticulously clean, but almost bare of furnishings.

Tisalver said, “I apologize, Master Seldon and Mistress Venabili, that I cannot give you the luxury to which you must be accustomed, but Dahl is a poor sector and I am not even among the better-off among our people.”

“The more reason,” responded Seldon, “that we must apologize to you for placing the burden of our presence upon you.”

“No burden, Master Seldon. Master Hummin has arranged to pay us generously for your use of our humble quarters and the credits would be welcome even if you were not—and you are.”

Seldon remembered Hummin’s parting words when they finally arrived in Dahl.

“Seldon,” he had said, “this is the third place I’ve arranged as sanctuary. The first two were notoriously beyond the reach of the Imperium, which might well have served to attract their attention; after all, they were logical places for you. This one is different. It is poor, unremarkable, and, as a matter of fact, unsafe in some ways. It is not a natural refuge for you, so that the Emperor and his Chief of Staff may not think to turn their eyes in this direction. Would you mind staying out of trouble this time, then?”

“I will try, Hummin,” said Seldon, a little offended. “Please be aware that the trouble is not of my seeking. I am trying to learn what may well take me thirty lifetimes to learn if I am to have the slightest chance of organizing psychohistory.”

“I understand,” said Hummin. “Your efforts at learning brought you to Upperside in Streeling and to the Elders’ aerie in Mycogen and to who can guess where in Dahl. As for you, Dr. Venabili, I know you’ve been trying to take care of Seldon, but you must try harder. Get it fixed in your head that he is the most important person on Trantor—or in the Galaxy, for that matter—and that he must be kept secure at any cost.”

“I will continue to do my best,” said Dors stiffly.

“And as for your host family, they have their peculiarities, but they are essentially good people with whom I have dealt before. Try not to get them in trouble either.”

But Tisalver, at least, did not seem to anticipate trouble of any kind from his new tenants and his expressed pleasure at the company he now had—quite apart from the rent credits he would be getting—seemed quite sincere.

He had never been outside Dahl and his appetite for tales of distant places was enormous. His wife too, bowing and smiling, would listen and their