"Why," ejaculated Billy, "Tipton is twenty-two miles away."

The good wife had slipped away, and presently returned, inviting him to
enter and have something to eat. As they entered the cozy dining room,
turning to Mrs. Sparrow, the young man said: "My name is Edwards--Carl
Edwards; I am an Englishman, and have been in this country only six
weeks. I am trying to find some employment."

Billy, learning from Nancy that the stranger was a countryman of his,
after he had eaten his supper, engaged him in conversation concerning the
old country, during the course of which he learned that they were from
the same county--he, Billy, from Barnard Castle, and Edwards from the
city of Durham, which places were not more than forty miles apart. Of
course Billy would not turn his countryman out to seek a lodging. So he
was invited to remain for the night, which invitation the young man
gladly accepted.

Next morning the stranger was found at the woodpile, busily engaged in
cutting wood for the cook stove. Billy found him thus working as he
returned from feeding the stock. It was a sultry morning in June and the
perspiration was streaming freely down the young man's face. It was
evident that this was harder work than he had been used to.

"You had better go slow for a while, Edwards, until you get toughened to
it," remarked Sparrow.

Just then was heard the sound of the bell calling them to
breakfast. Strange as it may seem, no more words about work passed
between the two men.