CHAPTER XIII.
JOHN OAKLEY'S NEW HOME.
Although John would prefer to have remained at home, in order that his studies might be uninterrupted, he nevertheless could not help deriving enjoyment from the ride on the stage-coach. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was gilding with its beams the fields and brooks, and a beautiful breeze rustled in and out among the leaves of the trees that for some distance lined the road. John, from his elevated perch, had an excellent view of the scenes through which they passed. As they rode by the house of Squire Selwyn, lie hoped to catch sight of his friend Sam; but Sam was nowhere to be seen.
"Sam is lazy this morning," thought John, disappointed.
But there he did Sam injustice. He had risen early, and with hook and line had gone to the pond to fish. From a distance he caught a glimpse of the stage rumbling along the village street, but it was too far off for him to distinguish the outside passengers. He would have been surprised had he known that among them was his friend John.
Ere long they were beyond the limits of the township. Occasionally the stage stopped to take in a fresh passenger, or to discharge a portion of its living freight. At intervals of a few miles they came to some village tavern, with a broad swinging sign, where the driver would pause to water his horses, or, at longer intervals, to exchange them for a fresh supply. Once or twice John descended to stretch his legs, stiff with long sitting. More than once he observed Mr. Huxter enter the tavern, and come out with his nose a little redder than usual.
"I went in to get a glass of bitters," he explained to John, whom he encountered at the door on one of these occasions. "I'll get you some if you want it."
"Thank you," said John. "I don't care for any."
"Well, you're young and strong, and don't need them. When you get to my age, you'll need a little something to stimulate you."