me to say something."
"Very well, sir."
"You'll find me a tough customer to deal with, young man."
"Then perhaps it is just as well that I do not propose to work for you."
"But you are goin' to work for me!" said the blacksmith, nodding his head.
"Whether I want to or not?" interrogated Kit, placidly.
"Yes, whether you want to or not, willy nilly, as the lawyers say."
"I think, Mr. Bickford, you will find that it takes two to make a bargain."
"So it does, and there's two that's made this bargain, your uncle and me."
Mr. Bickford was not always strictly grammatical in his language, as the reader will observe.
"I don't admit my uncle's right to make arrangements for me without my consent."
"You know more'n he does, I reckon?"
"No, but this matter concerns me more than it does him."
"Maybe you expect to live without workin'!"
"No; if it is true, as my uncle says, that I have no money, I shall have to make my living, but I prefer to choose my own way of doing it."
"You're a queer boy. Bein' a blacksmith is too much work for you, I reckon."
"At any rate it isn't the kind of work I care to undertake."
"What's all this rigmarole comin' to? Here we are 'most at my house. If you ain't goin' to work for me, what are you goin' to do?"
"I should like to pass the night at your house, Mr. Bickford. After breakfast I will pay you for your accommodations, and go–"
"Where?"
"You must excuse my telling you that. I have formed some plans, but I do not care to have my uncle know them."
"Are you going to work for anybody?" asked the blacksmith, whose curiosity was aroused.
"Yes, I have a place secured."
"Is it on a farm?"
"No."
"You're mighty mysterious, it seems to me. Now you've had your say, I've got something to tell you."
"Very well, Mr. Bickford."
"You say you're not goin' to work for me?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I say you are goin' to work for me. I've got your uncle's authority to set you to work, and I'm goin' to do it."
Kit heard this calmly.
"Suppose we postpone the discussion of the matter," he said. "Is that your house?"
Aaron Bickford's answer was to drive into the yard of a cottage. On the side opposite was a blacksmith's forge.
"That's where you're goin' to work!" he said, grimly, pointing to the forge.
CHAPTER IX.
KIT MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE
Grafton, where Barlow's circus was billed to appear on Saturday, was only six miles farther on. Oakford was about half way, so that in accompanying the blacksmith to his home, Kit had accomplished about half the necessary journey. Now that he had undeceived the blacksmith as to his intention of staying he felt at ease in his mind. It was his plan to remain over night in the house and pursue his journey early the next day.
"Are these all the clo'es you brought with you?" asked Bickford, surveying Kit's neat and rather expensive suit with disapproval.
"Yes. Am I not well enough dressed for a blacksmith?" asked Kit, with a smile.
"You're a plaguy sight too well dressed," returned Bickford. "You want a good rough suit, for the forge is a dirty place."
"I thought I told you I did not intend to work for you, Mr. Bickford."
"That's what you said, but I don't take no stock in it. Your uncle has bound you out to me, and that settles it."
"If he has bound me out, where are the papers, Mr. Bickford?" asked Kit, keenly.
This question was a poser. The blacksmith supposed that Kit might be ignorant that papers were required, but he found himself mistaken.
"There ain't no papers, but that don't make no difference," he said. "He says you're to work for me, and I'm goin' to hold you to it."
Kit did not reply, for he saw no advantage in discussion.
"You'll get a dollar a week and your board, and you can't do better. I reckon dinner is about ready now."
Kit felt ready for the dinner, for the morning's ride had sharpened his appetite. So when, five minutes later, he was summoned to the table, he willingly accepted the invitation.
"This is my new 'prentice, Mrs. Bickford," said the blacksmith, by way of introduction, to a spare, red headed woman, who was bustling about the kitchen, where the table was spread.
Mrs. Bickford eyed Kit critically.
"He's one of the kid glove kind, by his looks," she said. "You don't expect to get much work out of him, do you?"
"I reckon I will, or know the reason why," responded Bickford, significantly.
"Set right down and I'll dish up the victuals," said Mrs. Bickford. "We don't stand on no ceremony here. What's your name, young man?"
"People call me Kit."
"Sounds like a young cat. It's rediculous to give a boy such a name. First thing you know I'll be calling you Kitty."
"I hope I don't look like a cat," said Kit laughing.
"You ain't got no fur on your cheeks yet," said the blacksmith, laughing heartily at his own witticism. "What have you got for dinner, mother?"
"It's a sort of picked-up dinner," answered Mrs. Bickford. "There's some pork and beans warmed up, some slapjacks from breakfast, and some fried sassidges."
"Why, that's a dinner for a king," said the blacksmith, rubbing his hands.
He took his seat, and put on a plate for Kit specimens of the delicacies mentioned above. In spite of his appetite Kit partook sparingly, supplementing his meal with bread, which, being from the baker's shop, was of good quality. He congratulated himself that he was not to board permanently at Mr. Bickford's table.
When dinner was over, the blacksmith in a genial mood said to Kit: "You needn't begin to work till to-morrow. You can tramp round the village if you want to."
Kit was glad of the delay, as early the next morning he expected to bid farewell to Oakford, and thus would avoid a conflict.
He had been in Oakford before, and knew his way about. He went out of the yard and walked about in a leisurely way. It was early in June, and the country was at its best. The birds were
