"Oh, sort of," answered Ned carelessly, "and the knack of doing things like
this comes in handy for a fellow who has to work and wants to work. There's
my man," he added suddenly, as there was a hail outside, and Frank observed
a middle-aged man, with a tool-kit satchel extending from his shoulder,
approaching the wagon.

"Well, good-by, and glad I met you," said Frank, shaking hands with Ned.

"Lucky for me I met you," retorted the tinker boy gratefully. "I hope I'll
meet you again some time, but I don't suppose I'll ever be in this town
again."

"If you ever do--" Frank paused, and then added quickly: "why, hunt me up."

He had an impulse to invite his new acquaintance up to the house, but
suddenly thought of his aunt and changed his mind. Nothing would have
delighted him more than to have Ned Foreman tell him about his travels and
adventures, for they must have been many.

Frank strolled homeward, trying his knife on a piece of willow and shaping
out a whistle. As he came up the walk to the house he heard voices inside.
His aunt was speaking in her sharp, strident tones, a little more excitedly
than usual.

A gruff, masculine voice responded, and Frank, wondering who the owner
might be, stepped into the hall and peered into the reception-room.

"Aha!" instantly greeted him, as a man there sprang to his feet. "Here is
that precious nephew of yours, Miss Brown. I say, Frank Jordan, what have