“The fact of the matter is,” he explained to Posey as he was making a memorandum in his note-book of one quart, and one two-quart basin to be brought the next trip, “I’m pretty well sold out of stock, except milk pails, tin dippers, and nutmeg graters and the graters are a fancy kind at twenty-five cents. That’s a little too high for them to go easily. I guess I’ll tell Mr. Bruce—he’s the man I work for—that he’d better not order any more; things that run from ten to twenty cents sell the best. That’s about what a common bag of rags comes to, and folks would rather not pay money besides. I’d rather not pay money, either, for, you see, besides the profit on the rags I buy, there’s the profit on the goods I sell; so when I haven’t what they want, if they will wait I bring it next time I come, and I always take pains to pick out what I think will suit, too.” As it drew towards noon Posey suggested that they share the rest of the contents of her basket. But Ben urged, “Wait a little.” And when a few moments later coming over a hill they entered a small country village he drew up before its modest hotel with a flourish, remarking as he did so, “This train stops twenty minutes for refreshments.” “But, Ben,” expostulated Posey, “I’m sure there’s enough for us both in the basket.” “That will do for lunch this afternoon. I tell you, the afternoons are pretty long.” “But you know,” and Posey hesitated over the words, “we will have to pay if we eat here, and I haven’t any money.” “Ho!” scoffed Ben. “I guess when I ask a young lady to take a ride with me I can get her a bite to eat; that’s the proper thing to do. Besides, I never took a girl riding before, that is, except my cousins, and I want to do it up swell. Why, lots of the boys I know are always asking the girls to go somewhere, though what they can find to say to each other is more than I can imagine. And Fred Flood, only a year older’n I am, has been engaged. He was engaged to Millie Grey for two weeks, then they quarreled out, he burned all her letters in the back yard, and they haven’t spoken to each other since. “I s’pose, though,” Ben’s tone was reflective, “I shall come to it some day; write notes to the girls, and go after ’em in my best clothes an’ with a choke collar, as Cousin George does. But I guess it will be some time first,” and Ben laughed. “It must make one feel real grown-up-like, though, to have a written invitation,” remarked Posey. “I had a letter from a boy once,” the dimples in her cheeks showing at the recollection. “What was in it?” “Oh, there was a shield made with red and blue crayons, and ‘U. S.’ in big letters at the top and bottom of the paper; then it said, “‘DEAR POSEY, ‘If you love me, As I love you, No knife can cut Our love in two.’ The boy sent it to me in school one day.” “What did you write back?” “Nothing. I didn’t like the boy, anyway. Besides, I shouldn’t have known what to write.” “You might have written,