or nothing?"

Paul shook his head.

"Then what makes you go? Haven't run away from your father and mother,
hey?" asked the pedler, with a knowing look.

"I have no father nor mother," said Paul, sadly enough.

"Well, you had somebody to take care of you, I calculate. Where did you
live?"

"If I tell you, you won't carry me back?" said Paul, anxiously.

"Not a bit of it. I've got too much business on hand for that."

Relieved by this assurance, Paul told his story, encouraged thereto
by frequent questions from his companion, who seemed to take a lively
interest in the adventures of his young companion.

"That's a capital trick you played on old Mudge," he said with a hearty
laugh which almost made the tins rattle. "I don't blame you a bit for
running away. I've got a story to tell you about Mrs. Mudge. She's a
regular skinflint."

XI.

WAYSIDE GOSSIP.

This was the pedler's promised story about Mrs. Mudge.

"The last time I was round that way, I stopped, thinking maybe they
might have some rags to dispose of for tin-ware. The old lady seemed
glad to see me, and pretty soon she brought down a lot of white rags.
I thought they seemed quite heavy for their bulk,--howsomever, I wasn't
looking for any tricks, and I let it go. By-and-by, when I happened to
be ransacking one of the bags, I came across half a dozen pounds or more
of old iron tied up in a white cloth. That let the cat out of the bag. I
knew why they were so heavy, then, I reckon I shan't call on Mrs. Mudge
next time I go by."

"So you've run off," he continued, after a pause, "I like your
spunk,--just what I should have done myself. But tell me how you managed
to get off without the old chap's finding it out."

Paul related such of his adventures as he had not before told, his
companion listening with marked approval.

"I wish I'd been there," he said. "I'd have given fifty cents, right
out, to see how old Mudge looked, I calc'late he's pretty well tired
with his wild-goose chase by this time."

It was now twelve o'clock, and both the travelers began to feel the
pangs of hunger.

"It's about time to bait, I calc'late," remarked the pedler.

The unsophisticated reader is informed that the word "bait," in New
England phraseology, is applied to taking lunch or dining.

At this point a green lane opened out of the public road, skirted on
either side by a row of trees. Carpeted with green, it made a very
pleasant dining-room. A red-and