CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE REVELATIONS OF A SATCHEL.


"Hello, old man!"

"Eh?"

The man stopped, stared at Harry Bernard as if puzzled, and then began
to grin.

"I want to speak with you, sir."

"Sortin, sortin you can."

"Who are you?"

"Sam Wiggs o' Yonkers. Wat can I do for ye, mister?"

The old fellow seemed honest enough, and as Harry glanced at the dirty
hands, he saw nothing to excite his suspicions.

"Are you a relative of Mr.---?" naming the farmer who owned the place
on which they stood.

"Wal, not as I knows on," drawled the old fellow, laughing until his
old head seemed ready to topple from his shoulders. "No blood