e's nothing like pep'mint to my taste; now this is
surely a treat. I'm a thousand times obliged to you, Mr. Parks. These
don't taste like boughten candy; there's a real kind of home-made flavor
to 'em."

"That's right!" said Calvin. "That's just it; they are home-made. Them
pep'mints is made by an old gentleman in East Cyrus. I lighted on 'em by
accident, as you might say, and 'twas a good job I did."

"How was that?" Mary inquired civilly.

"Why, I ain't greatly acquainted in these parts, you know, Miss Hands;
been away so much, you understand, and never was one to go much when I
was to home, only amongst the near neighbors. I dono as ever I was in
East Cyrus before. 'Tis a pleasant-lookin' place. Nice street; not many
stores, but what there was was ship-shape and Bristol fashion; folks
personable and well-appearin'; I was pleased with East Cyrus. I druv
along kind o' slow, lookin' for my kind of a place; sure enough, I come
to a little store with candy in the window. Hossy saw it too, and
stopped of his own accord.

"'That so?' says I. 'Friend of yours, hossy?' He nods his head real
sociable, hossy doos, and I was just goin' to ramble down out of that
squirrel-cage, when the door opens kind o' smart, and someone hollers
out, 'I don't want any! You can go right along!'

"'Can!' says I. 'Now that's real accommodatin' of you. Anywheres
special you'd like me to go? That's what I come to inquire about,' I
says.

"He was a little man, kind o' dried up, but yet smart-lookin', and he
_was_ smart. He looks at hossy. 'You can go to Thunder!' he says.

"'First turn to the right, or second to the left?' says I. Then he looks
at me. 'Hello!' he says; 'it ain't you!'

"'No,' I says; 'it ain't. It's my half-uncle's widder from out west,' I
says.

"He kind o' laughed. 'What are you doin' with his hoss, then?' says he.

"'I bought it off'n him,' says I; 'it's my hoss now, and my team. Like
to know how many teeth we've got between us?'

"'Well, all the same I don't want any!' he says; and he starts to go
back into the store.

"'Excuse _me_!' I says, as polite as I knew how. 'Would you have any
objections to namin' over the things you don't want? I didn't know as
I'd offered you anything, but mebbe I done it in my sleep.'

"'Glucose is one thing,' he says. 'Terry alba, coal-tar,
plaster-of-Paris; them's some of the things I don't want. And you're
another. Is that enough?'

"'Not quite I says. 'Go slow, shipmate! If you