CHAPTER VIII. KIT'S RIDE TO OAKFORD. Oakford was six miles away. The blacksmith's horse was seventeen years old, and did not make very good speed. Kit was unusually busy thinking. He had taken a decisive step; he had, in fact, made up his mind to enter upon a new life. He had not objected to going away with the blacksmith, because it gave him an excuse for packing up his clothes, and leaving the house quietly. It may be objected that he had deceived Mr. Bickford. This was true, and the thought of it troubled him, but he hardly knew how to explain matters. Not much conversation took place till they were within a mile of Oakford. Aaron Bickford had filled his pipe at the beginning of the journey, and he had smoked steadily ever since. At last he removed his pipe from his mouth, and put it in his pocket. "Were you ever in Oakford?" he asked. "Yes," answered Kit. "I know the place very well." "How do you think you'll like livin' there?" "I don't think I shall like it." Mr. Bickford looked surprised. "I'll keep you at work so stiddy you won't mind where you are," he remarked dryly. "Not if I know it," Kit said to himself. He knew Mr. Bickford by reputation. He was a close-fisted, miserly man, who was not likely to be a very desirable employer, for he expected every one who worked for him to labor as hard as himself. Moreover, he and his wife lived in a very stingy manner, and few of the luxuries of the season appeared on their table. The fact that complaints upon this score had been made by some of Kit's predecessors in his employ, led Mr. Bickford to make inquiries with a view to ascertaining whether Kit was particular about his food. "Are you partic'lar about your vittles?" he asked abruptly. "I have been accustomed to good food," answered Kit. "You can't expect to live as you have at your uncle's," continued the blacksmith. "Me and my wife have enough to eat, but we think it best to eat plain food. Some of my help have had stuck up notions, and expected first class hotel fare, but they didn't get it at my house." "I believe you," said Kit. Mr. Bickford eyed him sharply, not being sure but this might be a sarcastic observation, but Kit's face was straight, and betrayed nothing. "You'll live as well as I do myself," he proceeded, after a pause. "I don't pamper my appetite by no means." Kit was quite ready to believe this also, but did not say so. "What time did you get up at your uncle's?" asked the blacksmith. "We have breakfast a little before eight. I get up in time for breakfast." "You do, hey?" ejaculated the blacksmith, scornfully. "Wa'al, I declare! You must be tuckered out gettin' up so airly." "O no, I stand it very well, Mr. Bickford," said Kit, amused. "Do you know what time I get up?" asked Mr. Bickford, with a touch of indignation in his tone. "I would like to know," answered Kit meekly. "Wa'al, I get up at five o'clock. What do you say to that, hey?" "I think it is very early."