agricultural papers one of them loaned him. Every vegetable he
attempted to raise was a success, and he carried them all three miles
down the road toward the city, to some rich customers that he found in
the elegant suburban homes there. They were willing to pay nearly
double the price that the Bardstown people offered him, everything he
had was so fresh and good.

It was a long way to trudge with his heavy baskets, and he longed
every day for the wheel he was trying so hard to win. "Won't I spin
along then!" he said to himself on more than one occasion, as he
dragged his tired feet homeward.

His Aunt Jane wanted to buy some of his vegetables, and hinted several
times that he might supply the table once in awhile for nothing; but
beyond an occasional contribution in the way of a few inferior
vegetables that he could not sell, he would not part with any at the
price she offered.

"He's a boy after your own heart, Peter Morgan," she complained to her
husband. "He's closer than the bark on a tree."

"Well, that's nothing against him," was the answer. "That's business.
He'll be rich some day. Keep all you get and get all you can is the
only way to get along in the world, according to my notion."

It was the Monday after school was out that Todd Walters also started
to work. He was selling fly-paper on commission for his friend, the
druggist. It was that sticky kind, called "Tanglefoot," that promises
such a pleasant path to the unwary insect, but proves such a snare and
a delusion at the last.