Moreover, prudence dictated his putting as great a distance as possible between himself and the village.
The hundred miles intervening between New York and that place he got over in his usual way, begging a meal at one house and a night’s lodging at another. He was never at a loss for a plausible story. At one place, where he was evidently looked upon with suspicion, he said:
“I ain’t used to beggin’. I’m a poor, hard-workin’ man, but I’ve heard that my poor daughter is sick in New York, and I want to get to her.”
“What took her to New York?” asked the farmer whom he addressed.
She went to take a place in a store.”
“I’m sorry for you,” said the farmer’s wife, sympathizingly. “Ephraim, can’t we help along this poor man?”
“If we can believe him. There’s many impostors about.”
“I hope you don’t take me for one,” said Rudolph meekly. “Poor Jane; what would she think if she knew her poor father was so misunderstood.”
“Poor man! I believe you,” said the farmer’s wife. “You shall sleep in Jonathan’s bed. He’s away now.”
So Rudolph was provided with two abundant meals and a comfortable bed. The farmer’s wife never doubted his story, though she could not help feeling that his looks were not prepossessing.