At six o'clock Mr. Johonnet called the little travellers to breakfast. The coffee was very dark-colored, with molasses boiled in it, and there were fried pork, fried potatoes swimming in fat, and clammy "rye and indian bread." None of these dishes were very inviting to the boys, who both had excellent fare at home; and they would have made but a light meal, if it had not been for the pumpkin pie and cheese, which Mr. Johonnet asked his wife to set on the table. "Poor children, they must eat," said he; "for they've got to get home to see their sick father." There were so many questions to be asked, that the boys made quick work of their breakfast and hurried away. "There, glad we're out of that scrape," said Fred. "But _didn't_ you lie? Why, Fred, how could you lie so?" "H'm! Did it up handsome--didn't I, though? Wouldn't give a red cent for you. You haven't the least gumption about lying." Willy shivered and drew away a little. His fine nature was shocked by Fred's coarseness and lack of principle; still, this was the boy he had chosen for an intimate friend! "If it hadn't been for me you'd have let the cat out of the bag," chuckled Fred. "You hung your head down as if you'd been stealing a sheep." It was three miles farther to Harlow, and Fred grumbled all the way about his sore feet. "See that yellow house through the trees?" said he. "That's my uncle Diah's; wish we could go there and rest." "But what's the use to wish?" returned Willy. "Look here, Fred; isn't there a ford somewhere near here?" To be sure there was. They had forgotten that; and sometimes the ford was not fordable, and it was necessary to go round-about in order to cross a ferry. While they were puzzling over this new dilemma, a stage-horn sounded. "That's the Harlow driver; he knows us," cried Fred; "let's hide quick." They concealed themselves behind some aspen trees on the bank, and "peeking" out, could see the stage-coach and its four sleek horses, about an eighth of a mile away, driving down the ferry-hill into the river. "Good!" said Willy; "there's the ford, and now we know. And the water isn't up to the horses' knees; so _we_ can cross well enough." "Yes, and get our breeches wet," groaned Fred. "O, that's nothing. Lumbermen don't mind wet breeches," said Willy, cheerily. "Lumbermen? Who said we were lumbermen? I shan't try it yet a while; my feet are too plaguy sore!" "Shan't try what?" "Well, nothing, I guess," yawned Fred; "lumber nor nothing else." The stage had passed, by this time, and they were walking towards the ford. When they reached it, Willy, nothing daunted, drew off his stockings and shoes, and began to roll up his pantaloons. "Look here, Billy; if you see any fun in this business, _I_ don't!" "Fun? O, but we don't spect that, you know," said heroic Willy, stepping into the stream. "Cold as ice, I know by the way you cringe," said lazy Fred, who had not yet untied his shoes. "Come on, Fred; who minds the cold?"