y breakfast was prepared for him,
at which Mr. Bayard, who intended to see him off, joined
him. Depositing his little bundle and the copy of "The Wayfarer" in
the valise provided for him, they walked to the store. The porter
wheeled the trunk down to the railroad station, though Bobby insisted
upon doing it himself.

The bookseller saw him and his baggage safely aboard of the cars, gave
him a ticket, and then bade him an affectionate adieu. In a little
while Bobby was flying over the rail, and at about eight o'clock
reached B----.

The station master kindly permitted him to deposit his trunk in the
baggage room, and to leave it there for the remainder of the week.

Taking a dozen of the books from the trunk, and placing them in his
valise, he sallied out upon his mission. It must be confessed that his
heart was filled with a tumult of emotions. The battle of life was
before him. He was on the field, sword in hand, ready to plunge into
the contest. It was victory or defeat.

"March on, brave youth! the field of strife
With peril fraught before thee lies;
March on! the battle plain of life
Shall yield thee yet a glorious prize."

It was of no use to shrink then, even if he had felt disposed to do
so. He was prepared to be rebuffed, to be insulted, to be turned away
from the doors at which he should seek admission; but he was
determined to conquer.

He had reached a house at which he proposed to offer "The Wayfarer"
for sale. His heart went pit pat, pit pat, and he paused before the
door.

"Now or never!" exclaimed he, as he swung open the garden gate, and
made his way up to the door.

He felt some misgivings. It was so new and strange to him that he
could hardly muster sufficient resolution to proceed farther. But his
irresolution was of only a moment's duration.

"Now or never!" and he gave a vigorous knock at the door.

It was opened by an elderly lady, whose physiognomy did not promise
much.

"Good morning, ma'am. Can I sell you a copy of 'The Wayfarer' to-day?
a new book, just published."

"No; I don't want none of your books. There's more pedlers round the
country now than you could shake a stick at in a month," replied the
old lady, petulantly.

"It is a very interesting book, ma'am; has an excellent moral." Bobby
had read the preface, as I before remarked. "It will suit you, ma'am;
for you look just like a lady who wants to read something with a
moral."

Bravo, Bobby! The lady conc