ed and began to continue his journey.

"Hallo! Stop, I tell you!" shouted the blacksmith.

"Have you got any more to say? If so, I'll listen."

"What more I have to say, I shall say with a horsewhip!" retorted
Bickford, grimly, preparing to descend from his wagon.

"Come, William, we must run for it," said Kit. "Are you good at
running?"

"Try me!" was the laconic reply.

By the time Aaron Bickford was out of his wagon, the boys had increased
the distance between them by several rods.

"Oho, so that's your game, is it?" said the blacksmith. "If I don't
overhaul them, my name isn't Aaron Bickford."

Kit was a good runner--quite as good as his pursuer--but he had one
serious disadvantage. His valise was heavy, and materially affected his
speed. He had carried it several miles, and though he had shifted it
from one hand to the other, both arms were now tired.

"Let me take it, Kit," said his companion, who was now on intimate terms
with him.

"It'll be just as heavy for you as for me."

"Never mind! He isn't after me."

"Well, if you don't mind carrying it a little while."

The advantage of the change was soon apparent. Kit increased his speed,
and William, whose arms were not tired, was not materially retarded by
his burden.

"If I had no valise I would climb a tree," said Kit, while running. "I
don't believe Mr. Bickford is good at climbing."

"We haven't got far to go to reach the circus tents," returned William.

But though the boys held out well, Aaron Bickford gradually gained upon
them. Many years at the anvil had given him plenty of wind and
endurance. Besides, he was entirely fresh, not having taken a long walk
already, as the boys had done.

"You'd better give up!" he cried out, in the tone of one who was sure of
victory. "It takes more than a boy like you to get the best of Aaron
Bickford."

It did indeed seem as if the boys must surrender. Within a few rods
Bickford would be even with them.

Kit came to a sudden determination.

"Jump over the fence!" he cried.

There was a rail fence skirting one side of the road.

No sooner said than done. Both boys clambered over the fence, and with
that barrier between them faced the angry blacksmith.

"Well, I've got you!" he cried, panting.

"Have you? I don't see it," answered Kit.

"You might as well give up fust as last."

"Suppose we discuss matters a little, Mr. Bickford," said Kit, calmly.
"What right have you to pursue me?"

"What