"Ain't you goin' to put it back?" he asked.

"Not much," said the agent. "I don't rent that fence to the circus, or
menagerie, or whatever it is."

"Can I have it?"

"Findings are keepings," said the agent, "especially when they ain't
worth looking for; that's railroad rule, and I guess circus-companies
haven't got a better one."

The finder sat down on the platform, took a knife from his pocket, and
carefully cut the monkey and the elephant's head from the paper. Then
he walked to the end of the platform and looked cautiously in the
direction of the town. A broad road, crossed by a narrow street, led
from the station; into the street the little man hurried, believing
himself secure from observation, but just then the door of a coal-yard
office opened, and Judge Prency, who had been county judge, and Deacon
Quickset emerged. Both saw the new arrival, who tried to pass them
without being recognized. But the deacon was too quick for him;
planting himself in the middle of the sidewalk, which was as narrow as
the deacon was broad, he stopped the wayfarer and said,--

"Samuel, I hope you're not going back to your old ways
again,--fighting, drinking, loafing, and stealing?"

"No, deacon, I ain't. I'm a changed man."

"That's what they all say, Samuel," the deacon replied, not unkindly,