Not much conversation took place till they were within a mile of Oakford. Aaron Bickford had filled his pipe at the beginning of the journey, and he had smoked steadily ever since. At last he removed his pipe from his mouth, and put it in his pocket.
"Were you ever in Oakford?" he asked.
"Yes," answered Kit. "I know the place very well."
"How do you think you'll like livin' there?"
"I don't think I shall like it."
Mr. Bickford looked surprised.
"I'll keep you at work so stiddy you won't mind where you are," he remarked dryly.
"Not if I know it," Kit said to himself.
He knew Mr. Bickford by reputation. He was a close-fisted, miserly man, who was not likely to be a very desirable employer, for he expected every one who worked for him to labor as hard as himself. Moreover, he and his wife lived in a very stingy manner, and few of the luxuries of the season appeared on their table. The fact that complaints upon this score had been made by some of Kit's predecessors in his employ, led Mr. Bickford to make inquiries with a view to ascertaining whether Kit was particular about his food.
"Are you partic'lar about your vittles?" he asked abruptly.