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“It’s only my coat and pants that’s torn,” said the latter, with an air of pride. “I’m all right inside, I bet there’s not a coon in these diggin’s can jump further, run faster, or lift more than me. And I never seen the day yet I was afeard of work! Now how about that job, mister?”

“Leonard,” said the merchant.

“Mr. Leonard, I mean. I’ve been a-waiting to get holt of the north end of your name.”

The merchant looked closely at his precocious visitor, who, to the age of a boy, added the self-assertion and experience of a grown man. The latter leaned back with easy assurance in his chair, and seemed indeed “at home.”

“What have you been used to doing?” asked Mr. Leonard.

“What ain’t I been used to would be a bit more like it,” said Will, resting his two elbows on the table. “Blackin’ boots, and sellin’ papers, and holdin’ hosses has been my big holts, but I’ve dipped into ’most everything else ’cept preaching.”

“You have been a little vagabond, I suppose, all your life, and know as much of the world as men ought to at twenty-five.”