“It looks as if I’d get into trouble again before night,” he thought. “I wonder what makes some people so mean, anyhow?”
Dan’s meditation was interrupted by hearing a wagon coming behind him. He looked to see who it was, and the man driving the horse called out, at the sight of the boy:
“Hello, Dan. Going to the village, I suppose? Don’t you want a ride? There’s plenty of room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harrison. I wouldn’t mind a lift,” and Dan climbed up on the seat beside Holman Harrison, the village blacksmith, a kindly old man, and a veteran of the Civil War. He had known Dan’s father and mother, and had been acquainted with Dan ever since the lad was a baby. In fact Mr. Harrison was the one person in the village whom Dan could think of as a friend.
“Going after vinegar?” asked the blacksmith, noticing the jug Dan carried.
“No, Mr. Harrison, molasses.”
“Going to catch flies?”
“Catch flies? What do you mean?”
“Well, you know there’s an old saying, that it’s easier to catch flies with molasses than it is with vinegar, and I thought perhaps Mrs. Savage was going to try it.”
“I guess she wouldn’t waste vinegar or molasses that way. She’d drive the flies out with a broom.”