“‘Stop, then, and refresh yourself.’
“‘I must not stop; I must reach home to-night, if possible: though I think you must be mistaken in the distance to Boston.’
“He then gave the reins to his horse, which he restrained with difficulty, and disappeared in a moment. A few days afterward I met the man a little this side of Claremont,[38] winding around the hills in Unity, at the rate, I believe, of twelve miles an hour.”
“Is Peter Rugg his real name, or has he accidentally gained that name?”
“I know not, but presume he will not deny his name; you can ask him,—for see, he has turned his horse, and is passing this way.”
In a moment a dark-colored, high-spirited horse approached, and would have passed without stopping, but I had resolved to speak to Peter Rugg, or whoever the man might be. Accordingly I stepped into the street; and as the horse approached, I made a feint of stopping him. The man immediately reined in his horse. “Sir,” said I, “may I be so bold as to inquire if you are not Mr. Rugg? for I think I have seen you before.”
“My name is Peter Rugg,” said he. “I have unfortunately lost my way; I am wet and weary, and will take it kindly of you to direct me to Boston.”
“You live in Boston, do you; and in what street?”
“In Middle Street.”
“When did you leave Boston?”