Bobby was not one of that impracticable class of persons who do nothing but dream; for he felt that he had a mission, to perform which dreaming could not accomplish.  However pleasant it may be to think of the great and brilliant things which one will do, to one of Bobby’s practical character it was even more pleasant to perform them.  We all dream great things, imagine great things; but he who stops there does not amount to much, and the world can well spare him, for he is nothing but a drone in the hive.  Bobby’s fine imaginings were pretty sure to bring out “now or never,” which was the pledge of action, and the work was as good as done when he had said it.

Therefore, when the train arrived, Bobby did not stop to dream any longer.  He forgot his beautiful air castle, and even let Annie Lee slip from his mind for the time being.  Those towns upon the Kennebec, the two hundred books he was to sell, loomed up before him, for it was with them he had to do.

Grasping the little valise he carried with him, he was hastening out of the station house when a hand was placed upon his shoulder.

“Got off slick—­didn’t I?” said Tom Spicer, placing himself by Bobby’s side.

“You here, Tom!” exclaimed our hero, gazing with astonishment at his late companion.

It was not an agreeable encounter, and from the bottom of his heart Bobby wished him any where but where he was.  He foresaw that he could not easily get rid of him.

“I am here,” replied Tom.  “I ran through the woods to the depot, and got aboard the cars just as they were starting.  The old man couldn’t come it over me quite so slick as that.”

“But you ran away from home.”

“Well, what of it?”

“A good deal, I should say.”

“If you had been in my place, you would have done the same.”

“I don’t know about that; obedience to parents is one of our first duties.”

“I know that; and if I had had any sort of fair play, I wouldn’t have run away.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Bobby, somewhat surprised, though he had a faint idea of the meaning of the other.

“I will tell you all about it by and by.  I give you my word and honor that I will make every thing satisfactory to you.”

“But you lied to me on the road this morning.”

Tom winced; under ordinary circumstances he would have resented such a remark by “clearing away” for a fight.  But he had a purpose to accomplish, and he knew the character of him with whom he had to deal.

“I am sorry I did, now,” answered Tom, with every manifestation of penitence for his fault.  “I didn’t want to lie to you; and it went against my conscience to do so.  But I was afraid, if I told you my father refused, up and down, to let me go, that you wouldn’t be willing I should come with you.”

“I shall not be any more willing now I know all about it,” added Bobby, in an uncompromising tone.