Yes! "See thou mock him not," gentle reader, for Billy is no subject for
any man's condescension. We were in his company scarcely an hour, but we
went away with a great feeling of respect and tenderness for him, and we
hope some day to drop in on him again, and hear his music and his quaint,
manly wisdom.

"All alone in the world, Billy?"

A shade of sadness passed over his face, and was gone again, as he
smilingly answered, stroking the cat that purred and rubbed herself
against his shoulder.

"Just puss and me and the guitar," he said. "The happiest of families.
Ah! Music's a great thing of a lonely evening."

And a sense of the brave loneliness of Billy's days swept over me as we
shook his strong hand, and he gave us a cheery godspeed on our way. I am
convinced that Billy could earn quite a salary on the vaudeville stage;
but--no! he is better where he is, sitting there at his bench, with his
black cat and his guitar and his singing, manly soul.

The twilight was rapidly thickening as we left Billy, once more bent over
his work, and, the fear of "supper-time" in our hearts, we pushed on at
extra speed toward our night's lodging at Mount Morris. The oak-trees
gloomed denser on our right as we plowed along a villainously sandy road.
Labourers homing from the day's work greeted us now and again in the
dimness, and presently one of these, plodding up behind us, broke forth
into conversation: