"Hi, grandpa! Will you give us a ride?" he called.
Without a word the farmer, who was an old man, halted his team and
permitted the boys to clamber up into the wagon.
"This is more like it," said Mott, forgetful of the benefits of walking,
as the horses started.
"It's not half bad," replied Will, as he glanced at the old man who was
driving. A straw hat covered his gray head, and his untrimmed gray beard
as well as his somewhat rough clothing could not entirely detract from
the keen twinkle in his eyes.
"I fancy," said Mott, addressing the driver, "that the beauties of this
country have added much to your longevity?"
"My which?" demanded the farmer sharply.
"Your longevity."
"I never had no such complaint's that. I've had the rheumatiz, but
that's all that ever bothered me any."
"You are to be congratulated," murmured Mott.
"Guess that's so. See that buryin' ground over there?" inquired the
driver, pointing as he spoke to a quaint little cemetery by the
roadside.
"Yes," replied Mott. "Probably most of the people died of longevity."
"It don't tell on th' gravestones. Jest got a new gravedigger.
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