When I came to my senses I was flat on my back in the dry ditch. The last rays of the sun sent shafts of golden green light through the maple boughs overhead. My first thought was an odd mixture of appreciation of the beauties of nature and disapproval of my own conduct in touring without a companion--a fad I had regretted more than once. Then my mind cleared and I sat up. I felt myself from the head down. I was not bleeding; no bones were broken; and, while much shaken, I had suffered no serious bruises. Then I saw the boy. He was standing at the edge of the cinder-path, near the ditch. He was stocky and solidly built; barefoot, with his trousers rolled up to his knees; wore a sort of butternut shirt, open at the throat; and was coatless and hatless. He was tow-headed, with a shock of tousled hair; was much freckled, and had a hideous harelip. He shifted from one foot to the other, twiddled his toes, and said nothing whatever, though he stared at me intently. I scrambled to my feet and proceeded to survey the wreck. It seemed distressingly complete. It had not blown up, nor even caught fire; but otherwise the ruin appeared hopelessly thorough. Everything I examined seemed worse smashed than the rest. My two hampers alone, by one of those cynical jokes of chance, had escaped--both had pitched clear of the wreckage and were unhurt, not even a bottle broken. During my investigations the boy’s faded eyes followed me continuously, but he uttered no word. When I had convinced myself of my helplessness I straightened up and addressed him: “How far is it to a blacksmith shop?” “Eight mile,” he answered. He had a distressing case of cleft palate and was scarcely intelligible. “Can you drive me there?” I inquired. “Nary team on the place,” he replied; “nary horse, nary cow.” “How far to the next house?” I continued. “Six mile,” he responded. I glanced at the sky. The sun had set already. I looked at my watch: it was going--seven thirty-six. “May I sleep in your house to-night?” I asked. “You can come in if you want to,” he said, “and sleep if you can. House all messy; ma’s been dead three year, and dad’s away. Nothin’ to eat but buckwheat flour and rusty bacon.” “I’ve plenty to eat,” I answered, picking up a hamper. “Just take that hamper, will you?” “You can come in if you’re a mind to,” he said, “but you got to carry your own stuff.” He did not speak gruffly or rudely, but appeared mildly stating an inoffensive fact. “All right,” I said, picking up the other hamper; “lead the way.”