"Wa'al, I guess we might 's well be goin'," he remarked, after a pause, and he led the way from the dining-room. Mr. Kimball had several places where he wanted to do some trading. He had to buy some dress goods for his wife, a book for Adrian, some sewing silk for his daughter Clara, and some tools for himself. He finished by noon, and after dinner he asked Roger if he didn't want to pay a visit to the salt works, for which Syracuse is noted. "Indeed, I'd like to go, first rate," said the boy. So they walked up to the northern part of the pretty town, where, stretched out in the sun, were the big shallow wooden vats for the evaporation of the brine which was pumped into them. On the way through the works Mr. Kimball explained how the salt springs were underneath the ground on which they were walking, and how the brine was brought to the surface of the earth by machinery. Then it was left for the sun to draw off the water, leaving behind the shining particles that formed the salt of commerce. The place was filled with buildings, large and small, with pumps, engines and vats, with sheds about which hurried scores of men, and Roger took a great interest looking at everything. He never knew before what a lot of salt came from Syracuse, nor what an important industry it was in the trade of the world, and particularly of New York State. "My, but we'll hev t' hustle," remarked Mr. Kimball, suddenly, looking at his big silver watch. "It's nigh two o'clock, 'n' Porter leaves at three smack. I guess we'll postpone the rest a' th' salt investigation 'til another time." So Roger and his uncle made a hurried trip to the Candee House, from which the stage started. They reached it with about five minutes to spare, which Mr. Kimball used in getting together his packages and Roger's baggage, and putting them all snugly in the lumbering vehicle. As he finished, the stage driver came out to see to the hitching up of the horses. "Porter, this is my nephew I were tellin' ye of," said Mr. Kimball. Mr. Amidown looked Roger over carefully. "Leetle spindlin', ain't he?" he suggested after a pause. "Wa'al, he ain't's stout's he will be when we git through 'ith him," replied Mr. Kimball with a hearty laugh, as he poked Porter playfully in the ribs. Then he helped Roger up to the high seat, and followed nimbly himself. There was a crack of the long whip, a rattle of the harness chains, a rumble of the wheels and the stage started off. There were several other passengers making the trip from Syracuse by stage that day, but Roger and his uncle were the only ones on the outside. The big wagon rolled along, first on the asphalt streets, under tall elm and maple trees that lined the thoroughfares, where the houses were so close together that they reminded the boy of New York. Then the residences became more scattered, and farther and farther apart, as the suburbs were reached.