it's eye flashed with transient anger, but as he had no idea of
acceding to his uncle's order, he did not allow himself to become unduly
excited. Indeed he had a plan, which made temporary submission a matter
of policy.

"What's the boy's name?" asked Aaron Bickford.

"I am generally called Kit. My right name is Christopher."

"Then, Kit, you'd better be getting your traps together, for I can't
stop long away from the shop."

"I have arranged to have you go back with Mr. Bickford to-day," said
Stephen Watson.

"That's rather short notice, isn't it?" Kit rejoined.

"The sooner the matter is arranged, the better!" answered his uncle.

"Very well," said Kit, with unexpected submission. "I'll go and pack up
my clothes."

Mr. Watson looked relieved. He had expected to have more trouble with
his nephew.

In twenty minutes Kit reappeared with his school valise. He had packed
up a supply of shirts, socks, handkerchiefs, and underclothing.

"I am all ready," he said.

"Then we'll be going," said the blacksmith, rising with alacrity.

Kit took his place on the seat beside Mr. Bickford.

"Good-by, uncle!" he said; "it may be some time before we meet again."

"What does the boy mean?" asked Stephen Watson, turning to Ralph with a
puzzled look.

"I don't know. He's been acting queer all the morning."

So Kit rode away with Aaron Bickford, but he had not the slightest
intention of becoming blacksmith. Instead of blacksmith's forges,
visions of a circus ring and acrobatic feats were dancing before his
mind.

CHAPTER VIII.

KIT'S RIDE TO OAKFORD.

Oakford was six miles away. The blacksmith's horse was seventeen years
old, and did not make very good speed. Kit was unusually busy thinking.
He had taken a decisive step; he had, in fact, made up his mind to enter
upon a new life. He had not objected to going away with the blacksmith,
because it gave him an excuse for packing up his clothes, and leaving
the house quietly.

It may be objected that he had deceived Mr. Bickford. This was true, and
the thought of it troubled him, but he hardly knew how to explain
matters.

Not much conversation took place till they were within a mile of
Oakford. Aaron Bickford had filled his pipe at the beginning of the
journey, and he had smoked steadily ever since. At last he removed his
pipe from his mouth, and put it in his pocket.

"Were you ever in Oakford?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Kit. "I know the place very well