"My friend," gasped Sam, dropping his own load and panting from his exertion, "I guess—you've made a—mistake. I ain't ordered a load of wood from nobody. Guess you've come to the wrong house."
"Guess not," replied the man, who was the farmer that had freed his mind at the railway station during the afternoon.
"This is Sam Kimper's," explained the cobbler.
"Just where I was told to come," said the farmer, tossing out the last sticks and stretching his arms to rest upon them.
"Who was it told you to bring it?" asked the resident.
The farmer stooped and took a large package from the front of the wagon and threw it on the ground; then he threw another.
"Won't you tell me who sent it?" Sam asked again.
The farmer turned his head and shouted,—
"God Almighty, if you must know; and He told me to bring that bag of flour and shoulder of bacon, too."
Then the farmer drove off, at a gait quite unusual in farm-teams.