"
"Wal, I guess it had suthin' t' do with that. One day the boss an'
me was out in the door-yard, an' a stranger come along. 'You're
John Thompson,' says he to the boss; 'An' you're so an' so,' says
the boss. I don't eggzac'ly remember the name he give." Tilly
stopped to think.
"Can you describe him?" Trove inquired.
"He was a big man with white whiskers an' hair, an' he wore light
breeches an' a short, blue coat."
"Again the friend of Darrel," Trove thought.
"Did you tell the tinker about your boss the night we were all at
Robin's Inn last summer?"
"I told him the whole story, an' he pumped me dry. I'd answer him,
an' he'd holler 'Very well,' an' shoot another question at me."
"Well, Thurst, go on with your story."
"Couldn't tell ye jest what happened. They went off int' the
house. Nex' day the boss tol' me he wa'n't no longer a poor man
an' was goin' t' sell his farm an' leave for Californy. In a
tavern near where we lived the stranger died sudden that night, an'
the funeral was at our house, an' he was buried there in Iowy."
Trove walked to the bench and stood a moment looking out of a
window.
"Strange!" said he, returning presently with tearful eyes.
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