Mr. Benton evidently meant to give his caller a most flattering impression of his hospitality, for he heaped the lad's plate with cold pork, brown bread, and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that "apple sass" for the young stranger.
The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host. When supper was eaten, Mr. Benton pushed back his chair and abruptly asked his guest:
"Who are ye?"
"Budd Boyd," promptly answered the lad.
"That's a kinder cur'us name, now ain't it?" questioned Mr. Benton. "I dunno any Boyds round here. Where be ye from?"
"I came from Massachusetts," replied Budd, with the air of one who had studied his answer; but it seemed for some reason to be very satisfactory to his questioner.
"Any parents?" next inquired Mr. Benton.
"My mother is dead, and my father is not keeping house now. I'm to look out for myself," said the lad, somewhat hesitatingly.
"I guess ye ain't used to farm work, be ye?" now inquired Mr. Benton, doubtingly, and looking at Budd's hands, which were as white and soft as a lady's.
"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," said the lad.