"Your mother's a fine cook!" said Carl,
between two mouthfuls.
"Ain't she, though?" answered Nat, his
mouth full of pie.
When Carl rose from the table he feared that
he had eaten more than his little stock of
money would pay for.
"How much will it be, Mrs. Sweetser?" he asked.
"Oh, you're quite welcome to all you've had,"
said the good woman, cheerily. "It's plain
farmer's fare."
"I never tasted a better dinner," said Carl.
Mrs. Sweetser seemed pleased with the
compliment to her cooking.
"Come again when you are passing this way," she said.
"You will always be welcome to a dinner."
Carl thanked her heartily, and pressed on
his way. Two hours later, at a lonely point
of the road, an ill-looking tramp, who had been
reclining by the wayside, jumped up, and
addressed him in a menacing tone:
"Young feller, shell over all the money you
have got, or I'll hurt you! I'm hard up, and
I won't stand no nonsense."
Carl started and looked into the face of the tramp.
It seemed to him that he had never seen a man more
ill-favored, or villainous-looking.
CHAPTER XI.
THE ARCHERY PRIZE.
Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought,
rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber.
He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him,
and that he had just picked up by the merest chance.
"Do I look like a banker?" he asked,
humorously. "Why do you want to rob a boy?"
"The way you're togged out, you must have
something," growled the tramp, "and I haven't
got a penny.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68