"Our grandmothers used to save up meat-bones, rags and bottles and trade them off to the peddler, receiving tinware in return." "The man on that wagon was doing business forty years ago," remarked Tom.

"In fact, judging by his appearance, he must have been quite a veteran at the business even forty years ago." A bent, little old man it was who was perched upon the seat of the red wagon.

Once upon a time his hair had been tawny.

Now it was streaked liberally with gray.

He was smoking a black little wooden pipe and paying small attention to the sad-eyed, bony horse between the shafts.