lunch, and I can recommend it to be as good a wayside inn as the
pedestrian need look for. Better bread and milk than we had there I
never expect to find. The milk was indeed so good that Aaron went down
to the little log house under the hill a mile farther on and asked for
more; and being told they had no cow, he lingered five minutes on the
doorstone with his sooty pail in his hand, putting idle questions about
the way and distance to the mother while he refreshed himself with the
sight of a well-dressed and comely-looking young girl, her daughter.

"I got no milk," said he, hurrying on after me, "but I got something
better, only I cannot divide it."

"I know what it is," replied I; " I heard her voice."

"Yes, and it was a good one, too. The sweetest sound I ever heard," he
went on, "was a girl's voice after I had been four years in the army,
and, by Jove! if I did n't experience something of the same pleasure in
hearing this young girl speak after a week in the woods. She had
evidently been out in the world and was home on a visit. It was a
different look she gave me from that of the natives. This is better
than fishing for trout," said he. "You drop in at the next house."

But the next house looked too unpromising.

"There is no milk there," said I, "unless they keep a goat."

"But could we not," said my facetious companion, "go it on that?"

A couple of miles beyond I stopped at a house that enjoyed the
distinction of being clapboarded, and had the good fortune to find both