“Do you live in Bridgeport?” continued the seedy individual, as though he intended to push his inquiries to some extent. “No, sir: I never was there till yesterday; and I have always lived in the country, and worked on the farm,” replied Wade, perfectly willing to tell all about himself. “I see: farmer’s boy; nice healthy occupation,” added the stranger. “Have you got tired of farming?” “No, sir: but I got tired of the way I had to live. The folks where I worked were meaner than swill-pie; and, when I couldn’t stand it any longer, I came away.” “What’s your name, my boy?” asked the man. “Wade Brooks.” “My name is Caleb Klucker; and I am one of the missionaries who go about this great city to look after the sick and the stranger,” replied the man very solemnly. “You may think my clothing is not very good for one engaged in such a responsible employment; but I cannot afford to spend any money on myself, when the sick and needy are so many. I wear these poor clothes, that more of the hungry may be fed.” “Look after the sick and the stranger,” repeated Wade, who did not clearly understand Mr. Klucker’s business. “Do you find any?” “Plenty of them. This very morning I found a poor woman who was sick in consumption; and I gave her all the money I had, except ten cents to pay for this miserable meal.” “That was doing the handsome thing,” added Wade, who concluded he had come across one of the saints he had read about, but had never seen. “Do you find any strangers?” “Hundreds who come to the great city with no friends to assist or advise them,” answered Mr. Klucker with enthusiasm; and Wade thought his whole soul was in his work. “I have found you, for one.” “But I don’t want any help: I think I can take care of myself.” “So all these simple-minded country boys think,” added the missionary, shaking his head. “The temptations of the great city will beset you behind and before.” “Well, sir, I think I can take care of myself in the face of all of them.” “Perhaps you can: you look like a bright, smart boy, who knows more about the world than most of those who come to the city.” Wade thought Mr. Caleb Klucker was a knowing man, and knew what was what. “What are you going to do in this city, Wade?” asked the missionary. “I am going to find a place to go to work. If I can get something to do, I can take care of myself till the cows come home.” “Will you let me look at your testimonials?” said Mr. Klucker, in an off-hand way. “My what?” “Your testimonials.” “I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t got any thing of that sort about me, as I know of.” “I mean your recommendations,--a paper from your minister, or some other good man, saying that you are a good boy,” Mr. Klucker explained. “I haven’t got any. I left, as I told you, in something of a hurry. I came to Bridgeport in a sail-boat which was my father’s; and I hadn’t any time to go to the minister for the paper.”