“Hi, grandpa!  Will you give us a ride?” he called.

Without a word the farmer, who was an old man, halted his team and permitted the boys to clamber up into the wagon.

“This is more like it,” said Mott, forgetful of the benefits of walking, as the horses started.

“It’s not half bad,” replied Will, as he glanced at the old man who was driving.  A straw hat covered his gray head, and his untrimmed gray beard as well as his somewhat rough clothing could not entirely detract from the keen twinkle in his eyes.

“I fancy,” said Mott, addressing the driver, “that the beauties of this country have added much to your longevity?”

“My which?” demanded the farmer sharply.

“Your longevity.”

“I never had no such complaint’s that.  I’ve had the rheumatiz, but that’s all that ever bothered me any.”

“You are to be congratulated,” murmured Mott.

“Guess that’s so.  See that buryin’ ground over there?” inquired the driver, pointing as he spoke to a quaint little cemetery by the roadside.

“Yes,” replied Mott.  “Probably most of the people died of longevity.”

“It don’t tell on th’ gravestones.  Jest got a new gravedigger.”

“How’s that?”

“Third we’ve had inside o’ a year.  Had one fur nigh onto forty year, but he up an’ died.”

“Longevity?” gravely inquired Mott.

“Like enough; though some folks thought ‘twas softenin’ o’ th’ brain; but my ’pinion is he never had any brains to get soft.  Still he were a good digger, but the man we got next was no good.”

“What was the trouble with him?  More longevity?”

“No; he buried everybody with their feet to the west.”

“Isn’t that the proper thing?”

“No, ’tisn’t!”

“Why?”

“Any fool knows ye ought t’ be buried with yer feet t’ the east.”

“Why’s that?”

“So’t ye can hear Gabriel’s trumpet better when he blows, an’ can rise up facin’ him an’ be all ready t’ go when he calls.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Like ‘s not.  Some folks don’t.  We’ve got another digger now, an’ he knows.”

For a time conversation ceased, and the farmer drove briskly along the country road.  When an hour had elapsed, Mott said, “I don’t see that we’re getting anywhere near Winthrop.”

“Winthrop?  Is that where ye want t’ go?  Students there, maybe?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we’ve been goin’ straight away from Winthrop all the time.  Ye didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout it, an’ I didn’t feel called upon t’ explain, for I supposed college students knew everything.”

“How far is it to Winthrop?” inquired Will blankly.

“’Beout ten mile,” responded the farmer, his eyes twinkling as he reined in his team.

CHAPTER X

A VISITOR

The boys both hastily leaped to the ground and the old farmer quickly spoke to his team and started on, leaving his recent passengers in such a frame of mind that they even forgot to thank him for his courtesy and kindness.  As the wagon drove off, Will fancied that he heard a sly chuckle from the driver but he had disappeared around the bend in the road before the young freshman recovered from his astonishment sufficiently to speak of it.