Mary Ann was an overgrown girl, with red arms and prominent knuckles, and no personal beauty to speak of. She was good-natured, however, and thus had an advantage over her mother.

She stared at the two guests as they sat up to the table, and was evidently favorably impressed by the appearance of Andy, who was a good-looking boy. Peter did not appear to please her so much, and merely received a look.

Mrs. Simpson was bustling about the kitchen and adjoining room, and left Mary Ann to entertain her guests. The girl showed her partiality for Andy by putting three sausages on his plate, and only two on Peter’s; but the latter took no notice of the discrimination, but set to work at once on his share.

Mary Ann looked at Andy with what she meant to be an engaging smile, though it looked more like a broad grin.

“I hope you like the sassidges?” she said.

“They are very good, thank you,” replied Andy, politely.

He spoke correctly, for Mrs. Simpson was famed for the excellence of her sausages, of which she annually made a large stock, part of which were sent to market.

“They was made out of one of our best hogs,” said Mary Ann, with engaging frankness.

“I don’t think I ever ate better,” said Andy.

“They’re hunky!” chimed in Peter, with his mouth full.

“Is you travelin’ far?” asked Mary Ann, who was not very well versed in grammar.

“Not very,” answered Andy.

“Be you a peddler?”

“No; but I may take up the business some time.”

“If you ever do, be sure to call round and see us, whenever you come our way,” said the young lady.

“I certainly will. I shan’t forget your nice sausages.”

“Won’t you have another?” asked Mary Ann, looking pleased.

“No, thank you.”

“I will,” said Peter.

Mary Ann supplied his wants, though not with as good a grace as she would have done for his companion.

“I guess you’ll have some pie?” she suggested, to Andy.

“Thank you.”

A liberal slice of apple pie was put on his plate. Andy would have preferred a clean plate, as sausages and apple pie do not go well together, but he did not care to be so particular.

The pie was good, also, and our hero, whose appetite was of that kind sometimes described as “healthy,” felt that he was getting his full money’s worth. As for Peter, he ate as if he were ravenous, and, not being engaged in conversation, like Andy, was able to give his undivided attention to the subject in hand.

“How are you gettin’ on, young men?” asked Mrs. Simpson, as she passed through the room.

“Bully!” mumbled Peter, whose utterance was somewhat impeded by the half section of apple pie which he had thrust into his mouth.

“Your daughter is taking excellent care of us,” said Andy.

Mary Ann looked delighted at this tribute to her attention, and mentally pronounced Andy the handsomest and most polite boy she had ever chanced to meet.

“What is your name?” she inquired, by no means bashful.

“You may call me Henry Miller,” said Andy, using his assumed name for the first time.

“That’s a nice name,” said Mary Ann.

“Do you think so?” asked Andy, smiling.

“I’ve got a nice name myself,” said Peter, complacently.

“What’s your name?” asked the young lady, indifferently.

“My name’s Peter Jenks.”

“I don’t like it,” said Mary Ann, decidedly, looking unfavorably at the red-headed boy.

“You wouldn’t like to be Mrs. Jenks?” asked Peter, grinning.

“No, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to marry no red head.”

“Maybe you’d like him better,” said Peter, pointing to Andy. “I guess anybody would.”

Andy was amused. He saw that he had made a conquest of the young lady, but did not feel much flattered. He would have been perfectly willing to transfer all her admiration to his companion, if the young lady had been willing.

When the dinner was over the two boys rose from the table, and, bidding good-by to Mary Ann and her mother, left the farmhouse.

“I say, that was a hunky dinner,” said Peter.

“It was very good, indeed.”

“It was enough sight better than I got at old Brackett’s.”

“Don’t they live well there?”

“No, they don’t. The old woman ain’t much of a cook. Besides, she’s mean. We didn’t have pie, only now and then, and she’d cut a pie into eight pieces, and there wasn’t no chance of a second slice for me.”

“By the way, Peter,” said Andy, with a sudden thought, “how would you like to work at a hotel?”

“First class!” answered Peter, promptly.

“Were you ever in Seneca?”

“Once.”

“You know the way, then?”

“Yes; straight ahead.”

“The landlord of the hotel there offered me a place, to work round the hotel and stable, for five dollars a month and board.”

“Why didn’t you take it?”

“I didn’t care to, just now.”

“I wish I could get it,” said Peter, wistfully.

“I think you can. Go straight there, and tell the landlord you were sent to him by a boy you met on the road. He’ll know it was I who sent you, and I shouldn’t wonder if you’d get the place.”

“I’ll do it,” said Peter, with a look of determination; “but I don’t see why you don’t go back and take it yourself?”

“Oh, I don’t care for it,” said Andy.

Peter would have been very much surprised had he known that Andy’s reason for declining to enter the landlord’s services was on account of his desire to step into the old place which he had just left with so much disgust.

“You must have a lot of money,” he said.

“Oh, no,” said Andy, laughing. “What makes you think so?”

“You wouldn’t give up a good place if you hadn’t.”

“Haven’t you given up your place, Peter?”

“Yes; but it wasn’t a good one. I’m much obliged to you for the dinner you’ve given me.”

“Oh, you are quite welcome. I suppose we part here. Of course you’ll go right on to Seneca, while I trudge on to Cato.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “I’ll try for that place before night.”

“I hope you’ll get it.”

So the two boys parted, and Andy kept on. He felt considerably more comfortable now that he had eaten a hearty dinner, but did not feel like walking rapidly. There was plenty of time to get to Cato, for he was not over five miles away.

“I guess I’ll go round to see Mr. Brackett to-night,” thought our hero, “so as to reach him before he has had a chance to hire another boy. I expect, from Peter’s account, I shan’t have a very pleasant time, but I shall soon see how the land lies, and whether there is any chance of helping uncle Simon or not. If I don’t get enough to eat, there’s one comfort—I have money in my pocket, and I can buy something outside. Money’s a pretty good friend, under all circumstances.”

Arrived in the village, Andy walked slowly along the road, keeping his eyes wide open.

A little in advance of him he saw an old man, with white hair, who was walking slowly, and appeared rather feeble.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if that is uncle Simon,” he thought. “I’ll speak to him, and try to find out.”