This was readily promised, and the boy who gave his name as John Burgess, sat down beside Paul, while he, with the frankness of boyhood, gave a circumstantial account of his father's death, and the ill-treatment he had met with subsequently. “Do you come from Wrenville?” asked John, interested. “Why, I've got relations there. Perhaps you know my cousin, Ben Newcome.” “Is Ben Newcome your cousin? O yes, I know him very well; he's a first-rate fellow.” “He isn't much like his father.” “Not at all. If he was”-- “You wouldn't like him so well. Uncle talks a little too much out of the dictionary, and walks so straight that he bends backward. But I say, Paul, old Mudge deserves to be choked, and Mrs. Mudge should be obliged to swallow a gallon of her own soup. I don't know but that would be worse than choking. I wouldn't have stayed so long if I had been in your place.” “I shouldn't,” said Paul, “if it hadn't been for Aunt Lucy.” “Was she an aunt of yours?” “No, but we used to call her so, She's the best friend I've got, and I don't know but the only one,” said Paul, a little sadly. “No, she isn't,” said John, quickly; “I'll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will come and see you. Where do you expect to be?” “I don't know anything about the city,” said Paul, “but if you come, I shall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now.” Neither Paul nor his companion had much idea of the extent of the great metropolis, or they would not have taken it so much as a matter of course that, being in the same place, they should meet each other. Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from a farmhouse within sight. “That's our breakfast-bell,” said John rising from the grass. “It is meant for me. I suppose they wonder what keeps me so long. Won't you come and take breakfast with me, Paul?” “I guess not,” said Paul, who would have been glad to do so had he followed the promptings of his appetite. “I'm afraid your folks would ask me questions, and then it would be found out that I am running away.” “I didn't think of that,” returned John, after a pause. “You haven't got any dinner with you?” he said a moment after. “No.” “Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. Come with me as far as the fence, and lie down there till I've finished breakfast. Then I'll bring something out for you, and maybe I'll walk along a little way with you.” “You are very kind,” said Paul, gratefully. “Oh, nonsense,” said John, “that's nothing. Besides, you know we are going to be friends.” “John! breakfast's ready.” “There's Nelson calling me,” said John, hurriedly. “I must leave you; there's the fence; lie down there, and I'll be back in a jiffy.” “John, I say, why don't you come?” “I'm coming. You mustn't think everybody's got such a thundering great appetite as you, Nelson.” “I guess you've got enough to keep you from pining away,” said Nelson, good-naturedly, “you're twice as fat as I am.”