"At any rate, Mr. Dwight," he said, quietly, after a minute's
silence, "I want an hour to myself this morning."

"And I'll dock ye ten cents for it," declared the old man.

"You can do as you like about that," returned Hiram, and he
walked into the back room, took off his apron, and got into his
coat.

He had it in mind to go to the big market, where the farmers
drove in from out of town, and see if he could meet one of his
old neighbors, or anybody else who could tell him of prospect
of work for the coming season. It was early yet for farmers to
be looking for extra hands; but Hiram hoped that he might see
something in prospect for the future. He had made up his mind
that, if possible, he would not take another job in town.

"And I can see pretty plainly that I've got about through at the
Emporium," he thought, as he approached the open space devoted by
the City of Crawberry to a market for the truckmen and farmers
who drove in with their wares from the surrounding country.

At this time of day the bustle of market was over. The farmers
would have had their breakfasts in the little restaurants which
encircled the market-place, or would be preparing to drive home
again. The hucksters and push-cart merchants were picking up
"seconds" and lot-ends of vegetables for their trade. The
cobbles of the market-place was a litter of cabbage leaves,
spilled sprouts, spoiled potatoes, and other refuse.