"Oh, no."
"Is Mr. Fillow?"
"No, neither of them."
"Then how do you come to be traveling with them?"
The boy's face took on a sober look, and he swallowed something like a lump in his throat.
"I—I got tired of going to school and I ran away from home."
"What do you mean—" Matt stopped short as a certain thought flashed over his mind. "Say, is your name Tom Inwold, and do you come from Plainfield?"
At this unexpected question the boy looked at Matt in amazement, his mouth wide open, and his eyes as big as they could well be.
"Who told you who I was?" he gasped.
"No one; I guessed it."
"But I don't know you."
"That's true. We stopped in Plainfield a number of weeks ago, and there I met your mother."
"And what did she say?" faltered Tom Inwold.
"She told me that you had run away with an auctioneer."
"And—and was that all?" went on the boy, his voice trembling with emotion.
"No; she was very anxious to have you come
