“When you get to the city, Paul,” said John, “I shall want to hear from you. Will you write to me?”
Paul promised readily.
“You can direct to John Burges, Burrville. The postmaster knows me, and I shall be sure to get it.”
“I wish you were going with me,” said Paul.
“Sometimes when I think that I am all alone it discourages me. It would be so much pleasanter to have some one with me.”
“I shall come sometime,” said John, “when I am a little older. I heard father say something the other day about my going into a store in the city. So we may meet again.”
“I hope we shall.”
They were just turning a bend of the road, when Paul chanced to look backward. About a quarter of a mile back he descried a horse and wagon wearing a familiar look. Fixing his eyes anxiously upon them, he was soon made aware that his suspicions were only too well founded. It was Mr. Mudge, doubtless in quest of him.
“What shall I do?” he asked, hurriedly of his companion.
“What's the matter?”