on, and I sharpened mower-blades and a scythe or so, Ben
turning the grindstone and I holding the blades and telling him stories
into the bargain. Mr. Stanley and his stout older son overhauled the
work-harness and tinkered the corn-planter. The doors at both ends
of the barn stood wide open, and through one of them, framed like a
picture, we could see the scudding floods descend upon the meadows, and
through the other, across a fine stretch of open country, we could see
all the roads glistening and the treetops moving under the rain.

"Fine, fine!" exclaimed Mr. Stanley, looking out from time to time, "we
got in our potatoes just in the nick of time."

After supper that evening I told them of my plan to leave them on the
following morning.

"Don't do that," said Mrs. Stanley heartily; "stay on with us."

"Yes," said Mr. Stanley, "we're shorthanded, and I'd be glad to have a
man like you all summer. There ain't any one around here will pay a good
man more'n I will, nor treat 'im better."

"I'm sure of it, Mr. Stanley," I said, "but I can't stay with you."

At that the tide of curiosity which I had seen rising ever since I
came began to break through. Oh, I know how difficult it is to let the
wanderer get by without taking toll of him! There are not so many people
here in the country that we can afford to neglect them. And as I had
nothing in the world to conceal, and, indeed, loved nothing better than
the give and take of getting acquainted, we were soon at it in good
earnest.

But it was not enough to tell them that my name was David Grayson and
where my farm was located, and how many acres there were, and how much
stock I had, and what I raised. The great particular "Why?"--as I knew
it would be--concerned my strange presence on the road at this season of
the year and the reason why I should turn in by chance, as I had done,
to help at their planting. If a man is stationary, it seems quite
impossible for him to imagine why any one should care to wander; and
as for the wanderer it is inconceivable to him how any one can remain
permanently at home.

We were all sitting comfortably around the table in the living-room. The
lamps were lighted, and Mr. Stanley, in slippers, was smoking his pipe
and Mrs. Stanley was darning socks over a mending-gourd, and the two
young Stanleys were whispering and giggling about some matter of supreme
consequence to youth. The windows were open, and we could smell the
sweet scent of