"There was a fellow up in our parts once as took pictures for two bits apiece." "Like these?" Mr. Quigg threw open one lid of a trunk, disclosing a velvet lined show case filled with photographs of different sizes. They would now be considered antiquated affairs, but to Ralph the life-like attitudes and looks of the sitters seemed wonderful. "Gracious, no!" he exclaimed. "That fellow only took little tintypes, as we folks call them. These beat anything I ever saw." "Well, suppose we get breakfast," said Quigg, turning to his oil stove. "We'll be in Hendersonville in an hour. Can you cook?" Ralph staggered to the stove, and took a puzzled look. "I've cooked on a fireplace all my life, more or less. But I don't think much of that thing." "Don't, eh? Well, well! You'll do for a dime museum, you will. Go and sit down, and watch me." Ralph took a seat near the door, and divided his time between Mr. Quigg's culinary operations and the swiftly moving panorama outside. The dizzy, yet smooth, motion of the car, the--to him--miraculous speed, the whirl and shimmer of the landscape--all this fascinated him after his first nervousness wore off. The artist, however, recalled him from this sort of day dreaming, by saying: "Ever make biscuit?" "We eat corn pones mostly at home." "Well, you can fry some bacon and eggs, I guess." He gave the boy a small frying pan, showed him where to place it, then lighted his lamp. "That beats pine knots, don't it?" he asked, while Ralph noted with a new wonder the ease and rapidity with which Mr. Quigg managed everything. While the meat and eggs were frying, the artist made coffee, thrust some potatoes into the oven beside the biscuit, then completed his morning toilet over a tin basin and a hand mirror. "Better take a wash and a brush," said he to Ralph. "I'll dish up the breakfast." So, while Mr. Quigg set the table, the lad washed his face, brushed his hair, and despite his homely looking jeans and rough brogans, presented a very sightly appearance as he sat down opposite the little photographer. At least so the latter thought, and remained in apparent deep reflection while eating. Ralph saw the white granulated sugar for the first time, and, mistaking it for salt, was about to sprinkle some on his egg. "That's a queer way to eat sugar," said Quigg, happening to notice the move. "Goes pretty good that way, though," returned Ralph, determined to martyr his palate rather than own up to any further ignorance. He was already beginning to divine the primitive nature of his native manner of life, but the consciousness of this fact only strengthened his desire to familiarize himself with these strange usages. Quigg laughed, then resumed his reverie. After the meal was over, Ralph washed the dishes, while the artist made up his bed and otherwise tidied up the car. Two window sash of unusual size attracted the lad's attention.