I opened my bag and explored the wonders of Mrs.Stanley's luncheon.

I cannot describe the absolutely carefree feeling I had.

Always at home, when I would have liked to stop at the roadside with a stranger, I felt the nudge of a conscience troubled with cows and corn, but here I could stop where I liked, or go on when I liked, and talk with whom I pleased, as long as I pleased.
So we sat there, the brush-peddler and I, under the trees, and ate Mrs.Stanley's fine luncheon, drank the clear water from the brook, and talked great talk.

Compared with Mr.Canfield I was a babe at wandering--and equally at talking.

Was there any business he had not been in, or any place in the country he had not visited?
He had sold everything from fly-paper to threshing-machines, he had picked up a large working knowledge of the weaknesses of human nature, and had arrived at the age of sixty-six with just enough available cash to pay the manufacturer for a new supply of brushes.