“Mother wanted a few things that she couldn’t find at any of our stores,” said Phil. “See anybody ye knowed?” was the next question, after the stare had returned to its principal duty. “Not much,” Phil replied, with a shiver, well knowing to whom the man alluded. “How did your turnips average on that new ground, Mr. Bloke?” “Only so-so. Ye put up at old--what the somethin’ was his name?--oh, Trammerly--ye stopped with him, I s’pose?” “Of course not. Mr. Tramlay doesn’t take boarders.” “Ort to hev been willin’ to take ye in for a few days, though, I should think, considerin’. Didn’t he even offer to?” “No. Why should he?” asked Phil, beginning to lose his temper. “He paid his way while he was here; I paid mine in New York.” “Oh!” drawled the rustic; then he put on a judicial air, and devoted two or three minutes to analyzing Phil’s statement and logic. Either accepting both, or mentally noting an exception for future use, he continued,-- “His gal’s as pooty as ever, I s’pose?” “Which one?” The questioner’s gaze changed somewhat; by various complicated twitches he slowly worked the blankness out of his face and replaced it by an attempt at a smile; then he slowly extended a long arm over the back of the seat, and unfolded a massive forefinger, which he thrust violently into the region of Phil’s vest-pocket as with a leer he exclaimed,-- “Kee!” “Don’t be a jackass!” exclaimed Phil, frowning angrily at the fellow. Instead of being abashed, the boor seemed highly delighted, and exclaimed, in somewhat the accent of the animal Phil had named,-- “Haw, haw, haw! Give ye the mitten, did she?” “It’ll be time for any girl to give me the mitten when I give her the chance, Mr. Bloke,” said Phil, picking up his bag and starting toward another seat. “Oh, set down; I didn’t think ye was the kind o’ feller to go an’ git mad at an old neighbor that’s only showin’ a friendly interest in ye,” said the man, in tones of reproach. “Set down. Why, I hain’t asked ye half what I want to; you’ve gone an’ put a lot of it out of my head, too, by flyin’ off of the handle in that way.” “Haynton!” shouted the conductor, as the train stopped with a crash. Phil hastily rose; so did his tormentor, whose face was an absolute agony of appeal as he said,-- “Lemme help ye up to the house with yer bag. I jist remembered that Naomi has been at me for a week to ask your mother somethin’ when I druv by. Might ez well do it to-night as any time: then I can give ye a friendly lift.” “I’m not going to walk out home,” said Phil, hastily, “if I can----” “Well, I’d jest as lieve ride,” said the man. “Two men and a driver and a big bag aren’t going to squeeze into a buggy with seats for only two, if I can help it,” said Phil.