de him crazy?"

"I don't know. Folks say he was disappointed."

"Did he ever see Jackson?"

"Yes; he fit at New Orleans under him."

"Has he lived long around here?"

"Ever since I can remember. He gets a pension, I've heard father say.
That's what keeps him."

Here the boy reached the pasture to which he was driving the cows,
and Harry, bidding him "good-by," went on his way. He felt fresh and
vigorous, and walked ten miles before he felt the need of rest. When
this distance was accomplished, he found himself in the center of a
good-sized village. He felt hungry, and the provision which he brought
from home was nearly gone. There was a grocery store close at hand, and
he went in, thinking that he would find something to help his meal. On
the counter he saw some rolls, and there was an open barrel of apples
not far off.

"What do you charge for your rolls?" he asked.

"Two cents."

"I'll take one. How do you sell your apples?"

"A cent apiece."

"I'll take two."

Thus for four cents Harry made quite a substantial addition to his meal.
As he left the store, and walked up the road, with the roll in his
hand, eating an apple, he called to mind Benjamin Franklin's entrance of
Philadelphia with a roll under each arm.

"I hope I shall have as good luck as Franklin had," he thought.

Walking slowly, he saw, on a small building which he I had just reached,
the sign, "Post Office."

"Perhaps the postmaster will know if anybody about here wants a boy,"
Harry said to himself. "At any rate, it won't do any harm to inquire."

He entered, finding himself in a small room, with one part partitioned
off as a repository for mail matter. He stepped up to a little window,
and presently the postmaster, an elderly man, presented himself.

"What name," he asked.

"I haven't come for a letter," said Harry.

"What do you want, then?" asked the official, but not roughly.

"Do you know of anyone that wants to hire a boy?"

"Who's the boy?"

"I am. I want to get a chance to work."

"What kind of work?"

"Any kind that'll pay my board and a little over."

"I don't know of any place," said the postmaster, after a little
thought.

"Isn't there any shoe shop where I could get in?"

"That reminds me--James Leavitt told me this morning that his boy was
going to Boston to go into a store in a couple of months. He's been
pegging for his father and I guess they'll have to get somebody in his
place."

Harry's face brig