In the faint, first light of the morning I rose and peered about me. Soon I saw the silhouette of a big bird in an open window across the ruined hall. The light grew clearer and my vision more acute. The bird that stood on the window-sill was a peacock, with a purple body and a tail some seven feet long. As I rose it flew to the ground, with that weird shriek which had filled the darkness with terror. The mystery was explained. There were the trailing garments, the wings that rustled like a sheet when he rose to the window-sill. This adventure served, as it were, to separate me from the goats. There was yet another thing which it accomplished: it cleared the earth of ghosts for me, so that I no longer feared them, having always a just suspicion of such fancies. ADVENTURE V--BEING THAT OF CRICKET AND THE HAND-MADE GENTLEMAN [Illustration: 9065] TOOK the road again, faint with hunger. I tell you, one will have faith in the goodness of men and women who makes a journey like that of mine. I remember it almost broke me down to go to a farm-house and face the good woman who opened the door and ask for a chance to earn my breakfast. When I spoke to her, there must have been something in my voice and countenance not to be denied or even rudely dealt with. I got all that I needed and more, and went on my way with a bundle of luncheon and a heart full of gratitude. The sun was shining out of a clear sky behind me, and I knew that I was travelling in the right direction. The white-throated sparrow sang on a wooded slope: [Illustration: 0065] The sidings were aglow with goldenrod and bluebells, and the breeze had a musky breath, and every bush was a fountain of song. I posted a letter to my mother in a little hamlet through which I passed about ten o'clock. Near noon I overtook a boy some two or three years older than myself. He had a wooden leg--a rude stump on which his knee rested--and walked with a grip in his hand. He was a rugged, serious-looking boy, with a face browned by the sunlight. He asked for my name and “place of residence.” “I'm a commercial traveller,” he informed me, presently. “What do you sell?” “Sit down an' I'll show ye.” We sat on the grass together, and he opened his grip. It was full of round white balls, differing in size and neatly wrapped in tinted tissue-paper. “What is it?” I asked. “What is it?” he answered., with dignity. “That, sir, is Sal.” “Sal?” said I “Sal,” said he, with a fond look at one of the white balls which now lay in his hand. “Sal cleans and polishes silverware, glassware, gold, brass, and pewter; removes dirt from woodwork and makes the home bright and beautiful.” He spoke this lingo as if it were some passage from a book of poetry, and paused to note its effect upon me. “What is your line?” he asked. “I'm on my way West to find employment,” said I. “How would you like to take Sal with you?” he asked. “I don't know,” was my answer.