r a step till I know if it's the right cars," said the old
lady firmly.

"Then you may stay here," said Sam. "I'm goin'."

"Don't leave your grandmother," said a gentleman, standing by.

"She isn't my grandmother. Isn't this the train to New York?"

"Yes."

Sam seized the bandbox once more, and this time the old lady followed
him.

They got into the cars without difficulty, and the old lady breathed a
sigh of relief.

Sam took a seat at the window just behind her, and his heart bounded
with exultation as he reflected that in a few hours he would be in the
great city, of which he had such vague and wonderful ideas. The only
drawback to his enjoyment was the loss of his usual morning meal. The
crackers helped to fill him up, but they were a poor substitute for
the warm breakfast to which he had been accustomed at the deacon's.
Still Sam did not wish himself back. Indeed, as he thought of the
deacon's bewilderment on discovering his disappearance, he broke into
an involuntary laugh.

"What are you laffin' at?" asked the old lady, suspiciously.

Sam answered, "I was thinkin' how near we came to bein' carried off to
the wrong place."

"That aint anything to laff at," said the old lady, grimly.

CHAPTER XI.

FIRST EXPERIENCES IN THE CITY.

There are few boys who do not enjoy a trip on the railroad, especially
for the first time. The five hours which Sam spent on his journey gave
him unqualified delight. Occasionally his attention was called off
from the scenery by an exclamation from the old lady, who at every
jolt thought the cars were off the track.

Sam liberally patronized the apple and peanut merchant, who about once
an hour walked through the cars. The crackers which he had purchased
at the grocery store had not spoiled his appetite, but rather appeared
to sharpen it. The old lady apparently became hungry also, for she
called the apple vender to her.

"What do you ask for them apples?" she inquired.

"The largest are three cents apiece, the smallest, two cents."

"That's an awful price. They aint worth half that."

"We can't sell 'em for less, and make any profit."

"I'll give you a cent for that one," she continued, pointing to the
largest in the basket.

"That! Why, that's a three-center. Can't take it nohow."

"I'll give you three cents for them two."

"No, ma'am, you may have 'em for five cents."

"Then I won't buy 'em. My darter will give me plenty for nothin'."

"She may, but