"Martha, where is St. Louis?"

She told him it was in Missouri, and one of the largest towns in
the South or West. "Our geography tells lots about it," she said.

I thought this was about the best meal I had ever eaten in my
life, and after it was over I offered to pay for it, but the kind-
hearted old man refused to take anything, saying: "Keep your
money, my boy. You may need it before you get back. And on your
return, stop and stay with me all night, and tell us all about St.
Louis."

After thanking them, I took my little bundle, bade them good-bye,
and was on my journey again. I have always regretted that I did
not learn this good man's name, but I was in something of a hurry
just then, for I feared that Mr. Drake might get on my trail and
follow me and take me back, and I had no pressing inclination to
meet old Hulda again.

I plodded along for many days, now and then looking back for Mr.
Drake, but not anxious to see him; rather the reverse.

It is not necessary to lumber up this story with my trip to St.
Louis. I was about six weeks on the road, the greater part of the
time in Kentucky, and I had no use for my money. I could stay at
almost any farm-house all night, wherever I stopped, and have a
good bed and be well fed, but no one would take pay for these
accommodations. When I got to Owensboro, Ky., I became acquainted
by accident with the mate of a steamboat that was going to St.
Louis and he allowed me to go on the boat and work my way.