"I shall do a good thing if I induce Henry to go home," thought Philip.
"That is rather a queer idea of his about wanting to kill Indians. It
seems to me as much murder to kill an Indian as any one else."

He only thought this, but did not express it, as he did not care to
get into a discussion with his new acquaintance, lest the latter should
recall his consent to go home.

"I say, Philip," said Henry, who had now learned our hero's name, "we
ain't in any hurry to go to New York, are we?"

"I thought we might take a train to-morrow morning, and go straight
through."

"But I'd rather take it easy, and travel through the country, and have
adventures."

"But you forget that your father will be anxious about you."

"Yes, I suppose he will."

"I'll tell you what I'll do. If you'll write a letter to your father,
and let him know that you are safe with me, I'll do as you say."

"All right," said Henry, in a tone of satisfaction; "I'll do it."

"Father'll pay you all you have to spend for me," Henry added, after a
moment's pause.

"Very well; then I will be your banker."

Philip was not foolish enough to protest that he did not care to
be repaid. All he had in the world was a little less than a hundred
dollars, and when that was gone he was not absolutely sure of making any
more at once, though he felt tolerably confident that he could.

"Suppose you let me have ten dollars now," suggested Henry.

"I think I would rather keep the money and pay the bills," said Philip
quietly.

He was not sure but that Henry, if he had a supply of money in his
pockets, would reconsider his promise to go home and take French leave.

Of course, it would be extremely foolish, but his present expedition did
not indicate the possession of much wisdom.

"I don't see what difference it makes," said Henry, looking
dissatisfied.

"I won't argue the point," answered Philip good-naturedly.

"I wish I was in New York, near a good restaurant," said Henry, after a
pause.

"Oh. I forgot! You are hungry."

"Awfully. I don't believe there's a hotel within two or three miles. I
don't think I can hold out to walk much farther."

A few rods farther on was a farmhouse standing back from the road,
old-fashioned-looking, but of comfortable aspect.

A young girl appeared at the side door and rang a noisy bell with great
vigor.

"They're going to have supper," said Henry wistfully. "I wish it was a
hotel!"

Philip had lived in the co