I went over to the corner where he was sitting and I was trying at
the same time to dry away my tears.

This man asked my name, which I gave him. He then asked where my
parents lived, and I told him that they died when I was four years
old.

Other questions from him brought out the story of my boy-life;
Drake, Gen. Jackson, the negro boys and the brutal negress; then
my trip to St. Louis--but I omitted the hornet's-nest incident. I
also told this kindly stranger that I had started out to make a
living for myself and intended to succeed.

Then he asked me where I was staying, and I told him of the
Beckets.

Seeing that this man was taking quite an interest in me, gave me
courage to ask his name. He told me that his name was Kit Carson,
and that by calling he was a hunter and trapper, and asked me how
I would like to learn his trade.

I assured him that I was willing to do anything honorable for a
living and that I thought I would very much like to be a hunter
and trapper. He said he would take me with him and I was entirely
delighted. Often I had wished to own a gun, but had never thought
of shooting anything larger than a squirrel or rabbit. I was ready
to start at once, and asked him when he would go.

Smilingly he told me not to be in a hurry, and asked me where Mrs.
Becket lived. I told him as nearly as I could, and again asked