As he went around a bend in the road, he came to a place where another highway joined the one on which he was traveling. At the same time he saw, coming along the other road, a country lad, driving a wagon, in which were a number of milk cans. The youthful driver spied Jack. “Want a lift?” he asked good-naturedly. “Thanks, but it depends on which way you are going,” replied our hero. “I’m going along this road,” was the answer, and the lad pointed to the highway bordering the track. “I’m taking this milk to the dairy,” he added. “Ye can ride as far as I go.” “Then I guess I will. I want to get to where the railroad crosses the river, about two miles back.” “That’s the Wickatunk creek; that ain’t no river,” remarked the young milkman, “Goin’ fishin’ in it?” “Well, yes, you might call it that.” “There ain’t no fish in it, around here. About three miles down is a good place, though.” “I don’t expect to catch any fish,” said Jack, with a smile. “Ye don’t? Then what in Tunket be ye goin’ fishin’ fer?” “My dress-suit case.” The boy, who had halted his horse, looked at Jack sharply. Evidently he thought the stranger was not quite sound in his mind. “That’s right,” went on our hero, with a smile. “My suit case toppled into the river as I was riding over it in a freight car. I’m going back to see if I can’t fish it out.” “Oh,” remarked the other lad. “Well, come on up, and I’ll drive ye there. I thought maybe ye was jokin’.” “No, it’s far from being a joke. I hope I get it out. I need the clothes that are in it, though by the time I get them they may look as badly as this suit does,” and he glanced down at the one he wore, which was wrinkled and dirty from his ride in the freight car. Jack got up on the seat beside the farmer lad, and briefly told the circumstances of his loss, saying nothing, however, about having run away. He said he was traveling in the freight car because he could not afford any other means of transportation, which was true enough. “I’ll help ye look,” volunteered the boy. “I’ve got lots of time. I started fer th’ dairy early this mornin’. Did yer satchel have anything heavy in it, so’s it would sink?” “Well, I don’t know. I’m afraid it wouldn’t float very well, after the clothes got water-soaked. Is the river very deep?” “’Tain’t a river, I tell ye. It’s a creek.” “It looked like a river to me, and a mighty big one, when I saw my case fall into it. Is the creek very deep?” “Not very; only in spots. It’s kinder deep where th’ railroad bridge is.” During the ride that followed, the two lads conversed on various topics, Jack asking many questions about the country in that vicinity. He made cautious inquiries as to whether there was any alarm out for his arrest, and found, to his relief, that there was not. Arriving at the bridge, the country lad, who said his name was Ferd Armstrong, tied his horse, and went down to the edge of the creek to help Jack look for his property.