Thirty-One Years on the Plains and In the Mountains | Page 5

some breakfast."
You may rest assured that I did not wait for a second invitation, for
about that time I was as hungry as I had ever been in my life.
While we were eating breakfast the farmer turned to his oldest daughter
and said:
"Martha, where is St. Louis?"
She told him it was in Missouri, and one of the largest towns in the
South or West. "Our geography tells lots about it," she said.
I thought this was about the best meal I had ever eaten in my life, and

after it was over I offered to pay for it, but the kind- hearted old man
refused to take anything, saying: "Keep your money, my boy. You may
need it before you get back. And on your return, stop and stay with me
all night, and tell us all about St. Louis."
After thanking them, I took my little bundle, bade them good-bye, and
was on my journey again. I have always regretted that I did not learn
this good man's name, but I was in something of a hurry just then, for I
feared that Mr. Drake might get on my trail and follow me and take me
back, and I had no pressing inclination to meet old Hulda again.
I plodded along for many days, now and then looking back for Mr.
Drake, but not anxious to see him; rather the reverse.
It is not necessary to lumber up this story with my trip to St louis. I was
about six weeks on the road, the greater part of the time in Kentucky,
and I had no use for my money. I could stay at almost any farm-house
all night, wherever I stopped, and have a good bed and be well fed, but
no one would take pay for these accommodations. When I got to
Owensboro, Ky, I became acquainted by accident with the mate of a
steamboat that was going to St. Louis and he allowed me to go on the
boat and work my way.
The first person that I met in St Louis, that I dared to speak with, was a
boy somewhat younger than myself. I asked him his name, and in
broken English he replied that his name was Henry Becket.
Seeing that he was French, I began to talk to him in his own language,
which was my mother tongue, and so we were quickly friends. I told
him that my parents were both dead and that I had no home, and he
being of a kind-hearted, sympathetic nature, invited me to go home
with him, which invitation I immediately accepted.
Henry Becket's mother was a widow and they were very poor, but they
were lovingly kind to me.
I told Mrs. Becket of my troubles with Mr. Drake's old negro woman;
how much abuse I had suffered at her hands and the widow

sympathized with me deeply. She also told me that I was welcome to
stay with them until such time as I was able to get employment. So I
remained with the Beckets three days, during all of which time I tried
hard to get work, but without success.
On the morning of the fourth day she asked me if I had tried any of the
hotels for work. I told her that I had not, so she advised me to go to
some of them in my rounds.
It had not occurred to me that a boy could find anything to do about a
hotel, but I took Mrs. Becket's advice, and that morning called at the
American hotel, which was the first one I came to.
Quite boldly, for a green boy, I approached the person whom I was told
was the proprietor and asked him if he had any work for a boy,
whereupon he looked at me in what seemed a most scornful way and
said very tartly:
"What kind of work do you think you could do?"
I told him I could do most anything in the way of common labor.
He gave me another half-scornful smile and said:
"I think you had better go home to your parents and go to school. That's
the best place for you."
This was discouraging, but instead of explaining my position, I turned
to go, and in spite of all that I could do the tears came to my eyes. Not
that I cared so much for being refused employment, but for the manner
in which the hotel man had spoken to me. I did not propose to give up
at that, but started away, more than ever determined to find
employment. I did not want to impose on the Beckets, notwithstanding
that they still assured me of welcome, and moreover I wished to do
something to