"By the way, papa," said Mary, "talking of that--what has become of
the pleasant man that goes under that name or nickname--the pedlar that
calls here occasionally?"

"I saw him in the market yesterday," replied her father, "and a fine,
hale fellow he is of his years. For a man of fifty he's a miracle of
activity and energy."

"They say he is wealthy," observed John, "and I shouldn't wonder. You
ought to give a good guess at that, father--ha! ha! ha!"

"Right, John, I ought, and I think he is. You don't know how money
gathers with a successful pedlar, who is up to his business. I am
inclined to think that the Cannie Soogah is the only man who can throw
any light on the history of Buck English."

"Who the devil is that impudent scoundrel, father? for it appears that,
as regards his birth, family, and origin, nobody knows anything certain
about him."

"And that is just the position in which I stand," replied his father.
"It is a subject on which he himself gives no satisfaction to any one.
When asked about it, he laughs in jour face, and replies that he
doesn't exactly know, but is of the opinion that he is the son of his
father--whoever that was; but that, he says, he is not wise enough to
know either, and then, after another laugh at you, he leaves you."

"How does he live?" asked John, "for he has no visible means of
support--he neither works nor is engaged in any profession, and yet he