ON THE TRAMP. 219 



farmers, a quiet smoke behind a hay rick, or under a shelter- 

 ing tree, was a great comfort. But I never believed in smoking 

 in barns. I drew the line there ; " Scottie " did not. That 

 same night we slept in one, and he lit a match in the midst 

 of straw and smoked away. In my native land I had heard 

 it called the sin of sins for a tramp to smoke in a barn, but 

 things were so reversed and my comrade seemed to enjoy it 

 so, that I said nothing. 



It was again shoulder carpet-bags and march ! More rain 

 and no umbrellas ! More changes from boots and blisters to 

 moccasons and misery. 



The weather cleared off as we proceeded. We were now 

 among a maze of vividly green hills through which our road 

 wound. The land was scatteringly settled, and our chances 

 for work proportionally limited. State of my financial ther- 

 mometer, sixty-five cents above zero and falling ! 



The country began to subside to gentler curves and to become 

 more settled. Late in the afternoon we came to a little 

 hamlet and here we made another fruitless efi'ort for work ; 

 but we were told of some further on. At sun-down we came 

 to a lone ranch whose mistress kindly gave us some biscuits, 

 which much to our relief she would take no pay for. She let 

 us dry ourselves by the fire awhile, and when her husband 

 came home, he allowed us to lie in the barn all night, for 

 which we were thankful. The sun set brightly, and as its rays 

 slanted through the dripping live-oaks and broad shadows 

 crept out from the hills, I was reminded of when, after similar 

 rain-followed sunsets on the old home farm, I went after the 

 cows, with the trees glistening with crystal drops and the 

 swamp-robin's song ringing from the darkening woods which 

 shaded the waters of the Cuttalossa. 



Shaking the straw from our clothing we were again on our 

 way the next morning, the 29th. Again the green hills arose 

 and fell before us. From the summit of a range we enjoyed, 



