"I be a-travelin'," Will said stoutly.
"Runaway 'prentice, I should guess. I was one myself at fifteen."
"I'm 'leven, goin' on twelve," said the boy, standing as straight as he could.
"Any folks?"
"I lived with granddad until he died, four year back."
"And so you're wayfarin', be you? What can you do to get your bread?"
The urchin dug a bare toe into the sod. "I can work," he said half-defiantly. "Granddad always said I should be put to school some day, but my uncle won't have that. I can read."
"Latin?"
"No—English. Granddad weren't college-bred."
"Nor I—they gave me more lickings than Latin at the grammar school down to Alvord, 'cause I would go bird's-nesting and fishing sooner than study my hic, haec, hoc. And now I've built me a booth like a wild man o' Virginia and come out here to get my Latin that I should ha' mastered at thirteen. All the travel-books are in Latin, and you have to know it to get on in foreign parts."