In a village a little way
back he had entered a bakeshop and purchased some rolls and a glass of
milk, which he ate with a good relish.
He resumed his walk, but had not gone a quarter of a mile when he
heard the noise of wheels, which on coming up with him, came to a
halt.
"Shall I give you a lift?" said the driver of the team.
Looking up, he saw that it was a covered wagon with four wheels, such
as is often to be met in New England towns. The man who held the reins
was of large frame and portly, with dark hair and whiskers. He might
be about forty-five years of age.
"Thank you, sir, said Harry.
"Where are you bound, if you don't mind my being inquisitive?"
"I don't know," answered Harry, doubtfully. "I'm seeking my fortune,
as they say."
"Well you ought to find it," returned the other, after a deliberate
survey of his young companion. "You're well-built, and look healthy
and strong. Have you got any money?"
"A little. My father died lately and left me three hundred dollars. He
recommended to me as guardian a man named John Fox, living eight miles
back. Well, I have tried Mr. Fox, and I prefer to be my own guardian."
"I've heard of John Fox. He's fox by name and fox by nature. So you
and he didn't hitch horses.
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