“A little rascal had the impudence to dispute the road with me, and would not turn out at my bidding,” said Mr. Holden, in a tone of exasperation, which showed that his temper had been considerably soured by the accident.

“Wouldn’t turn out?  Seems to me from the marks of the wheels, you must have been drivin’ along in the middle of the road.  I guess you didn’t take the trouble to turn out, yourself.”

“Well, there was room enough for the boy to turn out one side,” said Holden, doggedly.

“You are slightly mistaken, stranger,” said the other, who was disgusted at the traveler’s unreasonableness.  “There wasn’t room; as anyone can see that’s got eyes in his head.  Didn’t the youngster turn out at all?”

“Yes,” snapped Holden, not relishing the other’s free speech.

“Then it seems you were the one that would not turn out.  If you had been a leetle more accommodating, this accident couldn’t have happened.  Fair play’s my motto.  If a feller meets you halfway, it’s all you have a right to expect.  I reckon it’ll cost you a matter of ten dollars to get that ’ere buggy fixed.”

Holden looked savagely at the broken wheel, but that didn’t mend matters.  He would have answered the countryman angrily, but, as he stood in need of assistance, this was not good policy.

“What would you advise me to do about it?” he inquired.

“You will have to leave the buggy where it is just now.  Where did you get it?”

“Over at the mill village.”

“Well, you’d better lead the horse back—­’tain’t more’n a mile or so—­ get another wagon, and tell ’em to send for this.”

“Well, perhaps that is the best way.”

“Where was you goin’?”

“Over to Waverley.”

“That’s where the boy came from.”

“What boy?”

“The boy that upset you.”

“What is his name?” asked Abner Holden, scowling.

“His name is Herbert Mason, son of the Widder Mason that died two or three weeks since.  Poor boy, he’s left alone in the world.”

“Where’s he stopping?” asked Holden, hardly knowing why he asked the question.

“Dr. Kent took him in after the funeral, so I heard; but the selectmen of Waverley are trying to find him a place somewheres, where he can earn his own livin’.  He’s a smart, capable boy, and I guess he can do ’most a man’s work.”

Abner Holden looked thoughtful.  Some plan had suggested itself to him which appeared to yield him satisfaction, for he began to look decidedly more comfortable, and he muttered to himself:  “I’ll be even with him yet.  See if I don’t.”

“How far am I from Waverley?” he asked, after a slight pause.

“Well, risin’ three miles,” drawled the other.

“If I could get somebody to go back with this horse, I don’t know but what I’d walk to Waverley.  Are you very busy?”

“Well, I don’t know but I could leave off for a short time,” said the other, cautiously.  “Work’s pretty drivin’, to be sure.  What do you cal’late to pay?”