“I’ve been through there.  Crawford keeps the grocery store.”

“Yes.”

“What’s your name?”

“Ben Barclay,” answered our hero, feeling rather annoyed at what he considered intrusive curiosity.

“Barclay?” replied the tramp quickly.  “Not John Barclay’s son?”

It was Ben’s turn to be surprised.  He was the son of John Barclay, deceased, but how could his ill-favored traveling companion know that?

“Did you know my father?” asked the boy, astonished.

“I’ve heerd his name,” answered the tramp, in an evasive tone.

“What is your name?” asked Ben, feeling that be had a right to be as curious as his companion.

“I haven’t got any visitin’ cards with me,” answered the tramp dryly.

“Nor I; but I told you my name.”

“All right; I’ll tell you mine.  You can call me Jack Frost.”

“I gave you my real name,” said Ben significantly.

“I’ve almost forgotten what my real name is,” said the tramp.  “If you don’t like Jack Frost, you can call me George Washington.”

Ben laughed.

“I don’t think that name would suit, he said.  George Washington never told a lie.”

“What d’ye mean by that?” demanded the tramp, his brow darkening.

“I was joking,” answered Ben, who did not care to get into difficulty with such a man.

“I’m going to joke a little myself,” growled the tramp, as, looking quickly about him, he observed that they were riding over a lonely section of the road lined with woods.  “Have you got any money about you?”

Ben, taken by surprise, would have been glad to answer “No,” but he was a boy of truth, and could not say so truly, though he might have felt justified in doing so under the circumstances.

“Come, I see you have.  Give it to me right off or it’ll be worse for you.”

Now it happened that Ben had not less than twenty-five dollars about him.  He had carried some groceries to a remote part of the town, and collected two bills on the way.  All this money he had in a wallet in the pocket on the other side from the tramp.  But the money was not his; it belonged to his employer, and he was not disposed to give it up without a struggle; though he knew that in point of strength he was not an equal match for the man beside him.

“You will get no money from me,” he answered in a firm tone, though be felt far from comfortable.

“I won’t, hey!” growled the tramp.  “D’ye think I’m goin’ to let a boy like you get the best of me?”

He clutched Ben by the arm, and seemed in a fair way to overcome opposition by superior strength, when a fortunate idea struck Ben.  In his vest pocket was a silver dollar, which had been taken at the store, but proving to be counterfeit, had been given to Ben by Mr. Crawford as a curiosity.

This Ben extracted from his pocket, and flung out by the roadside.