THE OLD LADY OF THE WALNUTS AND OTHERS What manner of men we were and what our business was, thus wandering along the highroads with packs on our backs and stout sticks in our hands, was matter for no little speculation, and even suspicion, to the rural mind.

We did not seem to fit in with any familiar classification of vagabond.

We might be peddlers, or we might be "hoboes," but there was a disquieting uncertainty about us, and we felt it necessary occasionally to make reassuring explanations.

Once or twice we found no opportunity to do this, as, for instance, one sinister, darksome evening, we stood in hesitation at a puzzling cross-road--near Dansville, I think--and awaited the coming of an approaching buggy from which to ask the way.

It was driven by two ladies, who, on our making a signal of distress to them, immediately whipped up with evident alarm, and disappeared in a flash.
Dear things! they evidently anticipated a hold-up, and no doubt arrived home with a breathless tale of two suspicious-looking characters hanging about the neighbourhood.
On another occasion, we had been seated awhile under a walnut tree growing near a farm, and scattering its fruitage half across the highroad.