It was impossible to gain a good view of his face, but that did not trouble Tim, who was only anxious to learn who this boy was, and whether he might be sufficiently acquainted with Captain Babbige to send him news of the runaway.
The new-comer did not appear to be in any hurry to begin the conversation, but stood with his hands in his pockets, eying Tim as though he was some strange animal who might be expected to cut up queer sort of antics at any moment.
"Hullo!" said Tim, after he thought the fat boy had looked at him quite as long as was necessary.
"Hullo!" was the reply.
"Where did you come from?"
"Outer that tree there," replied the boy, gravely, as he pointed to the place where he had been hiding.
"Yes, I saw you come out of there; but that ain't where you live, is it?"
"No."
"Where do you live?" And Tim was beginning to think that it required a great deal of labor to extract a small amount of knowledge from this fat party.
"Oh, I live over the hill, about half a mile down the road. Got anything good to eat?"