He often thought of this boy, from whom he had obtained the idea he was now carrying out.  That boy had stopped over night at the little black house, and slept with him.  He had asked for lodging, and offered to pay for it, as well as for his supper and breakfast.  Why couldn’t he do the same?  He liked the suggestion, and from that time, wherever he happened to be, he asked for lodging, or the meal he required, and he always proposed to pay for what he had, but very few would take any thing.

On Friday noon he had sold out.  Returning to the railroad station, he found that the train would not leave for the city for an hour; so he improved the time in examining and balancing his accounts.  The book sales amounted to just fifty dollars, and after his ticket to Boston was paid for, his expenses would amount to one dollar and fifty cents, leaving a balance in his favor of fifteen dollars.  He was overjoyed with the result, and pictured the astonishment with which his mother, Squire Lee, and Annie would listen to the history of his excursion.

After four o’clock that afternoon he entered the store of Mr. Bayard, bag and baggage.  On his arrival in the city, he was considerably exercised in mind to know how he should get the trunk to his destination.  He was too economical to pay a cartman a quarter; but what would have seemed mean in a man was praiseworthy in a boy laboring for a noble end.

Probably a great many of my young readers in Bobby’s position, thinking that sixteen dollars, which our hero had in his pocket, was a mint of money, would have been in favor of being a little magnificent—­of taking a carriage and going up-town in state.  Bobby had not the least desire to “swell,” so he settled the matter by bargaining with a little ragged fellow to help him carry the trunk to Mr. Bayard’s store for fourpence.

“How do you do, Mr. Timmins?” said Bobby to the spruce clerk, as he deposited the trunk upon the floor, and handed the ragged boy the four-pence.

“Ah, Bobby!” exclaimed Mr. Timmins.  “Have you sold out?”

“All clean.  Is Mr. Bayard in?”

“In the office.  But how do you like it?”

“First rate.”

“Well, every one to his taste; but I don’t see how any one who has any regard for his dignity can stick himself into every body’s house.  I couldn’t do it, I know.”

“I don’t stand for the dignity.”

“Ah, well, there is a difference in folks.”

“That’s a fact,” replied Bobby, as he hurried to the office of Mr. Bayard, leaving Mr. Timmins to sun himself in his own dignity.

The bookseller was surprised to see him so soon, but he gave him a cordial reception.

“I didn’t expect you yet,” said he.  “Why do you come back?  Have you got sick of the business?”

“Sick of it!  No, sir.”

“What have you come back for then?”

“Sold out, sir.”

“Sold out!  You have done well!”