l wisdom.

"I've read 'Robi'son Crusoe,'" said Trove, as if it were some
excuse.

"So 've I; an' Grimshaw's 'Napoleon,' an' Weems's 'Life o' Marion,'
an' 'The Pirates' Book,' an' the Bible."

"I've got half through the Bible," said Trove.

"Who slew Absolum?" the other inquired doubtfully.

Trove remembered the circumstances, but couldn't recall the name.

They sat down to rest and eat luncheon.

"You going to be a statesman?" Trove inquired.

"No; once I thought I'd try t' go t' Congress, but I guess I'd
rather go t' sea. What you goin' t' be?"

"I shall try to be an author," said Trove.

"Why, if I was you, I'd go into politics," said the other. "Ye
might be President some day, no telling. Do ye know how t' chop er
hoe er swing a scythe?"

"Yes."

"Wal, then, if ye don't ever git t' be President, ye won't have t'
starve. I saw an author one day."

"You did?"

"He was an awful-lookin' cuss," said the other, with a nod of
affirmation.

The strange boy took another bite of bread and butter.

"Wrote dime novels an' drank whisky an' wore a bearskin vest," he
added presently.

"Do you know the Declaration of Independence?"

"No."

"I do," said the strange boy, and gave it word for word.

They chatted and tried tricks and spent a happy hour there by the
roadside. It was an hour of pure democracy--neither knew even the
name of the other so far.

They got to Cleveland late in the afternoon.

"Now keep yer hand on yer wallet," said the strange boy, as they
were coming into the city. "I've got three dollars an'
seventy-five cents in mine, an' I don't propose t' have it took
away from me."

Trove went to a tavern, the other to stay with friends. Near noon
next day both boys met on the wharf, where Trove was to board a
steamboat.

"Got a job?" Trove inquired.

"No," said the other, with a look of dejection. "I tried, an' they
cursed an' damned me awful. I got away as quick as I could. Dunno
but I'll have t' go back an' try t' be a statesman er something o'
that kind. Guess it's easier than goin' t' sea. Give me yer name
an' address, an' maybe I'll write ye a letter."

Trove complied.

"Please give me yours," said he.

"It's James Abram Garfield, Orange, O.," said the other.

Then they spoke a long good-by.

XI

The Old Rag Doll

The second week of September Trove went down the hills again to
school, with food and furniture beside him in the great wagon. He
had not