[B] Eggs.
CHAPTER VII.
THE PEDLAR.
"Comalong! Alcomout!"
"Comalong! Alcomout!"
Loud and shrill came the nasal tones accompanied by the sharp ringing of a little bell. The children rushed from the tent. It was just after breakfast.
A square, black-covered wagon, with a very high seat, on which was perched an odd-looking little man with grizled, curling hair, had stopped outside.
"Oh, I thought it was an Indian!" exclaimed Walter. "You're not an Indian, are you?"
"Think not," replied the little man, pleasantly but tersely. "I'm a Portugee—a long time away from my own country. Why you think me an Indian, young man?"
"That foreign language you speak," replied Walter. "I thought it was Indian."