hen I come, I sh'll bring a hoss and wagin. It'll be a stiddy hoss,
and I sh'll come here to this stump, an' stop till I seen ye. Then ye'll
hold the hoss till I go an' git yer pa, and then we'll wopse 'im up in
some blankits, an' make a clean streak for the woods. It'll be late
Sunday mornin' afore any body knows he's gone, and there won't be no
people on the road where we are goin', and ef we're druv into cover, I
know where the cover is. Jim Fenton's got friends on the road, and
they'll be mum as beetles. Did ye ever seen a beetle, Harry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, they work right along and don't say nothin' to nobody, but they
keep workin'; an' you an' me has got to be jest like beetles. Remember!
an' now git back to Tom Buffum's the best way ye can."

The boy reassured Jim, gave him a kiss, jumped over the fence, and crept
along through the bushes toward the house. Jim watched him, wrapped in
admiration.

"He's got the ra-al hunter in 'im, jest like his father, but there's
more in 'im nor there ever was in his father. I sh'd kinder liked to 'a'
knowed his ma," said Jim, as he took up his rifle and started in earnest
for his home.

As he plodded along his way, he thought over all the experiences of the
morning.

"Any man," said he to himself, "who can string things together in the
way Benedict did this mornin' can be cured. Startin' in hell, he was all
right, an' everything reasomble. The startin' is the principal p'int,
an' if I can git 'im to start from Number Nine, I'll fetch 'im round. He
never was so much to home as he was in the woods, an' when I git 'im
thar, and git 'im fishin' and huntin', and sleepin' on hemlock, an'
eatin' venison and corn-dodgers, it'll come to 'im that he's been there
afore, and he'll look round to find Abram, an' he won't see 'im, and his
craze 'll kind o' leak out of 'im afore he knows it."

Jim's theory was his own, but it would be difficult for Dr. Radcliffe,
and all his fellow-devotees of science, to controvert it. It contented
him, at least; and full of plans and hopes, stimulated by the thought
that he had a job on hand that would not only occupy his thoughts, but
give exercise to the benevolent impulses of his heart, he pressed on,
the miles disappearing behind him and shortening before, as if the
ground had been charmed.

He stopped at noon at a settler's lonely house, occupied by Mike Conlin,
a friendly Irishman. Jim took the man aside and related his plans. Mike
entered