She was tall, thin, and had a sallow complexion. Her dress hung straight down. Moreover, it was not clean. The girl eyed him attentively, and didn't seem in the least bashful. She seemed to arrive at a decision in regard to him. "Say, you're good-lookin'," she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Do you think so?" returned Rupert, blushing. "Yes. How old be you?" "Seventeen." "I'm fourteen. If you lived round here I'd take you for my beau." "But I don't live round here," said Rupert, with an air of relief. "What is your name?" he asked, with a sudden thought. "Sal. That's what mam calls me. What's yours?" "Rupert." "That's a mighty cur'us name. Never heard it afore." "I don't think it is a common name." "You jest come along, if you want some dinner. You said you'd pay for it, didn't you?" "Yes." "Then I guess mam will give you some." "Do you live far off?" asked Rupert, anxiously. "No. Jest in the woods a little way." Rupert followed the girl for about a quarter of a mile. Then, in a little clearing, he saw a rude cabin--just such a house as he fancied Sal would live in. "That's our house, and there's mam at the door," said his young guide. A tall, thin woman, between whom and Sal there was considerable resemblance, not only in appearance but in dress, stood in the doorway, shading her eyes with her hand as she looked down the path. "She's lookin' for me," explained Sal, with a grin. "Here you, Sal!" called her mother. "Where've you been gallivantin' to?" Then she stopped short, for she caught sight of Rupert. "Who've you got with you?" she asked, abruptly. "A boy," answered Sal. "Ain't he nice lookin'?" Rupert blushed again, as most of my boy readers would probably have done under like circumstances. "No matter how he looks," said the mother, sharply. "What does he want here?" "He wants somethin' to eat, and he's got money to pay for it," answered Sal. "I am very hungry, madam," said Rupert, taking off his hat. "I shall consider it a great favor if you will give me some dinner." "I reckon I kin scare up something," said the woman, more amiably. "Jest come in." Rupert entered the cabin. It was rudely and scantily furnished, but doubtless the occupants enjoyed it as much as a New York millionaire enjoys his elegant mansion on Fifth Avenue. There was a fire in the cooking-stove, and in a pantry Rupert noticed some cold remnants of the noonday meal. "Sit down," said the woman. "I'll scare you up something in a jiffy." "I'll sit down outside, if you don't mind," answered Rupert. He sat down on a settee on one side of the door. Soon the odor of some meat which was being fried assailed his nostrils, and gave him the keenest delight. In about twenty minutes Sal called him in, and he was glad to accept her rather unceremonious invitation. On the table was a dish of meat. He didn't know what kind it was, but it smelled good. On another plate was some corn bread, but no butter was provided.