My first stop was at the store where I disposed of a satisfactory quantity of melons, but after leaving the store the business dragged wearily, and I found myself obliged to take promises to pay in lieu of money from the women of the household when the masculine head chanced to be absent. They always explained, quite as a matter of course, that "he" had left no money with them. It appeared to me, as I patiently booked one promise after another, that "he" could not have kept hired help very long if their wages consisted of nothing more tangible--after the matter of food and lodging was eliminated--than those that fell to the lot of "his" womenfolk. I had observed, with some annoyance, when I first started out, that one of the wagon wheels had a tendency to make plaintive little protests, as if it objected to being put to any use. I could by no means fathom the reason for it, but by mid-afternoon the protest had grown into a piercing shriek. A shriek that even Guard shrank from with an indignant growl. Less than one-fourth of my load yet remained unsold. I was most anxious to clear it all out, but that ear-piercing sound was becoming maddening. "The wagon must be conjured," I thought, recalling some of Joe's fancies. Coming to a place at last, where two roads met, I halted the team and sat considering the question of a return home or a trip to Crusoe, which place I had not yet visited, when the sight of a horseman far down the left-hand road decided me to go in that direction. The horseman was well mounted and going at a good pace. "I don't care!" I told myself, recklessly, "I'm going to overtake him and make him take some of these melons if I have to pay him for doing it." But there was no occasion for my hurrying the horses. When the man on ahead caught the sound of my rapidly-advancing shriek he promptly drew up beside the roadway and awaited my approach, and then I saw that the rider was Mr. Rutledge. He recognized me at the same moment and exclaimed: "Why, Miss Leslie, is that you?" "Yes," I said, meekly, but I felt my face grow red, and was conscious, in spite of my good resolutions, of a sudden resentment against Joe. Why had he left me to do such work as this? Mr. Rutledge, drawing close to the wagon, ran an inquiring eye over my merchandise. "Been buying melons?" he asked, adding: "I didn't know that there was anything of the kind for sale in the valley." The observation did not seem to require an answer, and I was silent while he reached into the box and selected one of the smaller melons and held it up laughingly, as if defying me to retake it. "Findings is keepings!" he said, gayly. [Illustration: HE DREW UP BESIDE THE ROADWAY (Page 166)] "Also, pilferings," I returned, triumphantly. After all, I should not be compelled either to urge a sale or to offer a bribe. "Call it pilfering if you have the face to, but in return for this bit of refreshment I am going to give you some advice." "Well?"