as the proprietor of such an establishment as I have
described. No one, at first sight, would have hesitated to class him
as a Yankee. He was long in the limbs, and long in the face, with a
shrewd twinkle in the eye, a long nose, and the expression of a man
who respected himself and feared nobody. He was unpolished, in his
manners, and knew little of books, but he belonged to the same
resolute and hardy type of men who in years past sprang to arms, and
fought bravely for an idea. He was strong in his manhood, and would
have stood unabashed before a king. Such was the man who was to
mortify the pride of Fitzgerald Fletcher.

Tom Carver watched for his arrival in Centreville, and walking up to
his cart, accosted him.

"Good-morning, Mr. Bickford."

"Good-mornin', young man. You've got the advantage of me. I never
saw you before as I know of."

"I am Tom Carver, at your service."

"Glad to know you. Where do you live? Maybe your wife would like
some tinware this mornin'?" said Abner, relaxing his gaunt features
into a smile.

"She didn't say anything about it when I came out," said Tom,
entering into the joke.

"Maybe you'd like a tin-dipper for your youngest boy?"

"Maybe I would, if you've got any to give away."

"I see you've cut your eye-teeth. Is there anything else I can do
for you? I'm in for a trade."

"I don't know, unless I sell myself for rags."

"Anything for a trade. I'll give you two cents a pound."

"That's too cheap. I came to ask your help in a trick we boys want
to play on one of our number."

"Sho! you don't say so. That aint exactly in my line."

"I'll tell you all about it. There's a chap at our school--the
Academy, you know--who's awfully stuck up. He's all the time
bragging about belonging to a first family in Boston, and turning up
his nose at poorer boys. We want to mortify him."

"Just so!" said Abner, nodding. "Drive ahead!"

"Well, we thought if you'd call at the school and ask after him, and
pretend he was a cousin of yours, and all that, it would make him
mad."

"Oh, I see," said Abner, nodding, "he wouldn't like to own a
tin-pedler for his cousin."

"No," said Tom; "he wants us to think all his relations are rich. I
wouldn't mind at all myself," he added, it suddenly occurring to him
that Abner's feelings might be hurt.

"Good!" said Abner, "I see you aint one of the stuck-up kind. I've
got some relations in Boston myself, that are rich and stuck