neighbors, and offered them a grateful shelter from the noonday sun.

From the box underneath the seat, the pedler took out a loaf of bread,
a slice of butter, and a tin pail full of doughnuts. Paul, on his side,
brought out his bread and gingerbread.

"I most generally carry round my own provisions," remarked the pedler,
between two mouthfuls. "It's a good deal cheaper and more convenient,
too. Help yourself to the doughnuts. I always calc'late to have some
with me. I'd give more for 'em any day than for rich cake that ain't
fit for anybody. My mother used to beat everybody in the neighborhood on
making doughnuts. She made 'em so good that we never knew when to stop
eating. You wouldn't hardly believe it, but, when I was a little shaver,
I remember eating twenty-three doughnuts at one time. Pretty nigh killed
me."

"I should think it might," said Paul, laughing.

"Mother got so scared that she vowed she wouldn't fry another for three
months, but I guess she kinder lost the run of the almanac, for in less
than a week she turned out about a bushel more."

All this time the pedler was engaged in practically refuting the saying,
that a man cannot do two things at once. With a little assistance from
Paul, the stock of doughnuts on which he had been lavishing encomiums,
diminished rapidly. It was evident that his attachment to this homely
article of diet was quite as strong as ever.

"Don't be afraid of them," said he, seeing that Paul desisted from his
efforts, "I've got plenty more in the box."