No, Margaret and I haven’t packed up our bedrolls and made like bindlestiffs; we’re making a long drive northward toward Vermont, where we’ll arrive tomorrow for the festivities surrounding Josiah’s graduation.
(I had thought that the bindlestiff was the belongings-in-a-kerchief-on-a-stick apparatus, not the characterization of the tramp who travels thus. You learn something every day.)
It is common to mistake the bindle for the stiff who stuffed it.