Somebody was hanging to the rear of the carriage.
Aunt Corinne kneeled on the cushion and stretched her neck and eyes
out over a queer little old man, who seemed to carry a bunch of some
kind on his back. He had been running noiselessly behind the
carriage, occasionally hanging by his arms, and he was taking one of
these swings when his dodging eyes met hers, and he let go, rolling
in the 'pike dust.
"You _better_ let go!" scolded aunt Corinne. "Bob'day, there's
a beggar been hangin' on! Ma Padgett, a little old man with a bag on
his back was goin' to climb into this carriage!"
[Illustration: A QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN.]
"Tisn't a bag," said Bobaday laughing, for the little old man looked
funny brushing the dust off his ragged knees.
"_'Tis_ a bag," said aunt Corinne, "and he ought to hurt himself
for scarin' us."
"There's no danger of his doing us harm," said grandma Padgett
mildly, after she had leaned out at the side and brought her blue
glasses to bear upon the lessening figure of the little old man.
Yet Corinne watched him when he sat down on a bank to rest; she
watched him grow a mere bunch and battered hat, and then fade to a
speck.
The 'pike was the home of such creatures as he appeared to be.
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