Early on the morning of Independence Day Sammy stood at the door of the farmhouse arrayed in his Sunday best. His folks were there to see him off.
"My son," said Mr. Borden, "don't ye be wasteful o' your money, an' don't git in no scrapes."
"An' remember, Sammy, to keep all the Commandments," added his mother, as she kissed him tenderly.
Soon he was off, down the side road towards the highway, where the stage passed that ran to the railroad station. His walk took him by the Thompson cottage. Randy was at home and fixing up the garden.
"I'm off!" yelled Sammy, waving his hand.
"Good luck!" cried Randy, pleasantly. "Don't get your head shot off."
"He may lose his head without having it shot off," remarked Mr. Thompson, who sat on the porch, with his rheumatic side in the sunshine.
"I do not think it very wise to let him go to the city alone," put in Mrs. Thompson from the kitchen.
Sammy tramped on until he came to the main highway and there waited impatiently for the stage to appear. He got a seat by the driver, and in less than an hour reached the railroad station. He had been on the cars before, yet the ride was much of a novelty.
At last the country boy found himself on the streets of Springfield. There was an extra celebration of some sort going on and great crowds flocked on every side. Poor Sammy was completely bewildered, as he was jostled first one way and then another.