"What d'ye want?" he asked forbiddingly.
"Little boy," said the stranger, "I thank you. I want for nothing."
The head collapsed, but quickly came up again.
"Ain't yeh goin' anywhere?" asked a despairing voice.
"I was going, little boy, but I have stopped."
This was so true that the small boy sat up and scowled.
"I judge," went on the other, "that I am now midway between Arden, otherwise, Wimbleton, and Arcady, sometime known as Wombleton. The question is, which way and how? A simple sum in arithmetic will—little boy, do not frown like that! The wind may change. Smile nicely, and I'll tell you something."
Urged by necessity, the badgered one attempted to look pleasant.
"That's better! Now, my cheerful child, what I really want to know is 'how many miles to Babylon?'"
A reluctant grin showed that the small boy's early education had not been utterly neglected. "Aw, what yeh givin' us?" he protested sheepishly, "if it's Coombe you're lookin' for, it's 'bout a mile and a half down the next holler."