I fixed the bundle all ready for a start, and went to bed in good season. Mother rose early, got me a nice breakfast, and called me at half past four.
“Mother,” said I, as feelings of gratitude rose within me at the excellence of the meal, “how does a camel’s-hair shawl look?”
“I don’t know, my son,” said she. “I never saw one.”
“Never saw one!” said I. “Well, you shall see one, a big one, if I find my fortune.”
“Thank you,” said mother, and smiled again that peculiar smile.
Fred and I met promptly at the horse-block. He greatly admired my stick; his was an old hoe-handle, sawed short. I gave him two of my sandwiches for half of his cookies, and we tied up the bundles snugly, and slung them over our shoulders.
“How long do you think it will take us?” said I.
“Maybe three or four years—maybe more,” said he.
“Let us agree to meet again on this spot five years, from to-day,” said I.
“All right!” said Fred; and he took out a bit of lead pencil, and wrote the date on the side of the block.