When seven o’clock came he was passing through the county-seat, but though there were many interesting things to look at in the town, Archie determined not to stop. He was afraid he might meet some one he knew, who would be sure to ask him where he was going with his bundle, and what he was doing out so early. And anyhow he was very hungry, and decided to get out of the town and to the farmhouses as soon as possible. “I can work for my meal at a farmhouse,” he said to himself, “but in the town they’ll take me for a regular tramp.” So poor Archie walked quickly through the town, still keeping to the southern road, and saying to himself, as he passed every milestone, “So much nearer New York.” About a mile out in the country he came to a large farmhouse, and he determined to enter and ask for a meal. He had hard work to muster up enough courage to go in and ask for anything, but finally he knocked timidly at the kitchen door, and was frightened by a large dog which came barking around the corner. It seemed to him that the animal would surely bite, but a large fat woman opened the door just in time to let him in. “Hurry in, boy,” she said, “fer there’s no tellin’ what Tige might do ef he once gets a hold of ye.” So Archie stepped into the large kitchen, with its rafters overhead, and its dining-table in the corner. “Sit down, boy,” said the woman. “I reckon you’s thet new lad thet’s come ter work over at Mullins’s, ain’t ye?” “No’m,” said Archie, “I don’t work anywhere. I’m on my way to New York, where I expect to find a position, and I thought perhaps you’d allow me to do a little work here this morning to earn my breakfast.” Good Mrs. Lane, for that was the woman’s name, was horrified to think that any one was alive and without breakfast at eight o’clock in the morning. “Goodness me!” said she. “Why, you must be half-famished fer want of food, ain’t ye?” And she bustled about the kitchen, putting the kettle on to boil, and stirring up the fire. “You’ll have some nice ham and eggs, my boy, and then I have somethin’ in mind fer you. I reckon yer ain’t in no hurry ter get ter the city, be ye? Well, even if ye do be in a hurry, I reckon you’ll be glad of the chance to earn four dollars. I ain’t goin’ to ask ye no questions about how ye come to be walkin’ to New York, because I never wuz no hand ter meddle in other folkses affairs, but ye look to be a likely lad, and a strong un, and ez my sister’s husband, what lives two miles down the pike, needs a boy to drive a plough fer a week, I b’lieve ye’ll suit ‘im first-rate. So ez soon ez ye have finished yer vittles, I’ll walk down there with ye, and we’ll see the old man.”