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Memoirs of a

worse than death, the going back to face my unnatural parents. Refresh'd by this little repose, and relieved by my tears, I was proceeding onward, when I was overtaken by a sturdy country lad, who was going to London, to see what he could do for himself there, and, like me, had given his friends the slip. He could not be above seventeen, was ruddy, well featur'd enough, with uncomb'd flaxen hair, a little flapp'd hat, a kersey-frock, yarn stockings; in short, a perfect plough-boy. I saw him come whistling behind me, with a bundle tied to the end of a stick: his travelling equipage. We walk'd by one another for some time without speaking, at length we join'd company, and agreed to keep together till we got to our journey's end. What his designs or ideas were I know not: the innocence of mine I can solemnly protest. As night drew on, it became us to look out for some inn, or shelter; to which perplexity another was added, and that was, what we should say for our-

selves,