Next morning we turned south to reach the railroad. About one o’clock we came to a little blacksmith shop, and after some haggling, bought a half loaf of mouldy bread for a dime. Pushing on for perhaps a mile, we stopped in a lonely spot to make tea. Everything was dripping with moisture from recent rains, so, despite Dan’s vigorous efforts, the fire refused to burn. We were both on our knees blowing lustily when a shadow falling athwart the rack attracted our attention and, glancing up, we saw a bareheaded man standing with folded arms, fixedly regarding us. We sat back and stared, for we had seen no house in that vicinity. “When you get tired exercising your lungs,” began the stranger, “just follow me and get a surprise.” Thinking that any change must be an improvement on our situation, we gathered up the cooking utensils and obediently dragged the wheel after our guide, who plunged into a thick growth of trees on our right. A few minutes’ walk brought us to an immense tent, from which issued a great noise of crunching, stamping and snorting. Passing around to the far end, we beheld, stretching down one side of the interior, a long row of horses and mules—perhaps twenty in number—busily munching their noonday feed, while the other side of the tent was fitted with a kitchen range, a gasoline stove, cooking utensils, table and chairs, and in the rear some bunks and a great pile of hay. Leading the way through the kitchen, the stranger pulled out a curtain strung on a wire, closing off the rear compartment, and brought a huge kettle of hot water, buckets of cold, a large tub, towels and soap, with directions to enjoy ourselves while he prepared a meal. And what a delight it was to have the use of such conveniences, crude as they were. My opinion of “dirty hoboes” has undergone a radical change since I have seen for myself the difficulties that beset the man who has nothing, in his efforts toward cleanliness. Our ablutions performed, we entered the kitchen and found our host deep in the labour of cooking. And what a meal he set out. Hot biscuits, mashed potatoes, broiled ham and cream gravy, fried eggs and a pot of delicious coffee. The meal was nearly over before his strange manner impressed me. Opening a large bread box, he took the entire contents and going down the row of animals fed the loaves to them, talking meanwhile in a most astounding fashion. Returning, he escorted us to the rear room and insisted on our lying down, saying that we must be tired, as indeed we were. The words were scarcely spoken when a heavy rain beat a tattoo on the tent walls. “Confound this weather,” began our host, settling himself in a chair; “I’m two-thirds crazy now, and another three days of this beastly rain will drive me completely nutty.”