Knowing from experience that the highway made quite a circuit to reach a little group of three houses, which he had already enumerated, Hamilton struck out across country, using a little footpath through some woods.  At that early hour of the morning he was not expecting to meet any one, and it was a great surprise to him when he heard voices.  A moment later he reached a small clump of trees, and came right upon three men, one with a tea-pot in his hand, standing up and leaning a little forward as though ready to show aggressiveness to any intruder, the other two on the ground, one sitting, and one lying half asleep on some boughs carelessly thrown down.  As Hamilton was still in his enumeration district and felt that here were some people who might not have been registered, he pulled up.

“’Morning, boys!” he said ingratiatingly.

“Howdy!” the impromptu cook replied, and waited for the boy to go on.

“I’m the census-taker for this district,” the boy continued, “and I knew this was a short cut across the fields; but I didn’t know I should find you here.”

“Inform the gentleman, Bill,” spoke the traveler who was lying down, “that we were equally unaware of the unexpected pleasure of this meeting but that we would have been better prepared to meet him had he sent a courier to announce his coming.”

“You heard him,” the first speaker supplemented jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“I heard him all right,” answered Hamilton, dropping immediately into the spirit of the thing, “but tell him that I was unaware that he had left his town residence for this convenient and airy country house.”

“As I live, an intelligent reply!” was the response in tones of surprise, and the speaker sat up on his rough couch.

To Hamilton the situation was a little difficult.  There would be no trouble in merely exchanging a few greetings and then passing along on his journey, but the boy was above all things conscientious, and he could not forget that these men were probably not entered upon the books of the census, and that now, on the very last day of census-taking, they were in his district.  And he knew well enough, that if he broached the question it would not be favorably received.  However he thought he saw a way out.

“If you have a pannikin of tea to spare,” he said, “I’d enjoy it.”

“If you like to put up with what we’ve got, join us an’ welcome,” the tall tramp said.

“All right,” Hamilton answered, “I will.”

“Permit me to do the honours!” said the second tramp.  “This is ‘Hatchet’ Ben Barclay, the gentleman sitting down is ‘Jolly’ Joe Smith—­not because of his humor but because of his powers of persuasion, and I am Harry Downe, very much at your service.”

“Better known as the ‘Windy Duke,’” interjected the tea-maker, who had by this time returned to his task of preparing breakfast, and was busy frying slices of ham on a piece of stick over the hot wood coals.