Mr. Bayard's, in Washington Street."

"He will sell them to me at the same price, won't he?"

"I don't know."

"When are you going again?"

"Monday."

"Won't you let me go with you, Bob?"

"Let you? Of course you can go where you please; it is none of my
business."

Bobby did not like the idea of having such a co-partner as Tom Spicer,
and he did not like to tell him so. If he did, he would have to give
his reasons for declining the proposition, and that would make Tom mad,
and perhaps provoke him to quarrel.

The fish bit well, and in an hour's time Bobby had a mess. As he took
his basket and walked home, the young ruffian followed him. He could
not get rid of him till he reached the gate in front of the little
black house; and even there Tom begged him to stop a few moments. Our
hero was in a hurry, and in the easiest manner possible got rid of this
aspirant for mercantile honors.

We have no doubt a journal of Bobby's daily life would be very
interesting to our young readers; but the fact that some of his most
stirring adventures are yet to be related admonishes us to hasten
forward more rapidly.

On Monday morning Bobby bade adieu to his mother again, and started for
Boston. He fully expected to encounter Tom on the way, who, he was
afraid, would persist in accompanying him on his tour. As before, he
stopped at Squire Lee's to bid him and Annie good by.

The little maiden had read "The Wayfarer" more than half through, and
was very enthusiastic in her expression of the pleasure she derived
from it. She promised to send it over to his house when she had
finished it, and hoped he would bring his stock to Riverdale, so that
she might again replenish her library. Bobby thought of something just
then, and the thought brought forth a harvest on the following
Saturday, when he returned.

"When he had shaken bands with the squire and was about to depart, he
received a piece of news which gave him food for an hour's serious
reflection.

"Did you hear about Tom Spicer?" asked Squire Lee.

"No, sir; what about him?"

"Broken his arm."

"Broken his arm! Gracious! How did it happen?" exclaimed Bobby, the
more astonished because he had been thinking of Tom since he had left
home.

"He was out in the woods yesterday, where boys should not be on
Sundays, and, in climbing a tree after a bird's nest, he fell to the
ground."

"I am sorry for him," replied Bobby, musing.

"So am I; but if he had