Mr. Taylor's house was nearer to Boston than was my father's; and so it was agreed that David would watch for me on the morning when we were to start, and come out and join me as I passed. You may wonder why I did not go into the house to say good-by to the Taylor family. The fact is, I foresaw that I might not be wanted there at that moment, and so I called at David's house the evening before, partly to arrange our plans, but more especially to say good-by to the Taylors. You already understand that I was much attached to David, and I will add that I was especially fond of his eldest sister, who was a year younger than himself. To say good-by to her was no small effort for me, and I felt that it would be better for us to make our adieus in the evening, rather than in the morning, when the whole household would be plunged in grief at David's departure. CHAPTER II. WALKING TO BOSTON.--SUSPECTED TO BE RUNAWAYS.--FIND A SHIP AND SIGN ARTICLES. We had a good sixty miles to walk, yes, sixty-five of them, from our homes to Boston. There was a stage coach which ran daily each way, but it was five miles from our house to the nearest point of the turnpike road, on which the stage traveled. We were too poor to afford such a magnificent conveyance, and therefore had arranged to walk the entire distance. In addition to our bundles or packs which I had already described, David having an outfit exactly like mine, we had provisions enough, as we hoped, to last until we reached Boston, and a cash capital of a little over five dollars each. We were strong lads, and capable of a great deal of exertion, and we figured out that we would walk the distance in two days, begging the privilege of sleeping in a barn during the intervening night. I left home immediately after breakfast, which was served an hour earlier than usual, in order to give me a good start. It was the same at David's house, and it was not yet seven o'clock before we were on the road. We got along all right for ten or twelve miles, meeting perhaps a dozen people in wagons or on foot, and just stopping long enough to "pass the time of day." Our first adventure was with a man in a wagon and accompanied by a boy of about our age. The man spoke to us rather gruffly, asked who we were, and where we were going. We told him our names and our fathers' names, where we lived, and the rest that the reader knows. "I don't think you're telling the truth," said the man. "We have told you the exact truth," I answered, "and my friend David will say the same thing." "Of course he would do so," was the answer, "but that won't make it true. I believe you're a pair of runaway apprentices, and I'm going to arrest you!" "We are nothing of the sort," I answered, "we have never been apprenticed to anybody, and we're not running away." "We'll see about that," was his reply, "get into the hind part of my wagon, and come back to the village."