now, an' what's true to him is a lie to us, an'
what's true to us is a lie to him. I jest go into his world and say
what's true whar he lives. Isn't that right?"

This vein of casuistry was new to the boy, and he was staggered.

"When your pa gits well agin, an' here's hopin,' Jim Fenton an' he will
be together in their brains, ye know, and then they won't be talkin'
like a couple of jay-birds, and I won't lie to him no more nor I would
to you."

The lad's troubled mind was satisfied, and he crept back to his father's
feet, where he lay until he discovered Turk, whining and wagging his
tail in front of the little hillock that was crowned by Jim's cabin.

The long, hard, weird journey was at an end. The boat came up broadside
to the shore, and Jim leaped out, and showered as many caresses upon his
dog as he received from the faithful brute.

CHAPTER VI.

IN WHICH SEVENOAKS EXPERIENCES A GREAT COMMOTION, AND COMES TO THE
CONCLUSION THAT BENEDICT HAS MET WITH FOUL PLAY.

Thomas Buffum and his family slept late on Sunday morning, and the
operating forces of the establishment lingered in their beds. When, at
last, the latter rose and opened the doors of the dormitories, the
escape of Benedict was detected. Mr. Buffum was summoned at once, and
hastened across the street in his shirt-sleeves, which, by the way, was
about as far toward full dress as he ever went when the weather did not
compel him to wear a coat. Buffum examined the inner door and saw that
it had been forced by a tremendous exercise of muscular power. He
remembered the loss of the key, and knew that some one had assisted in
the operation.

"Where's that boy?" wheezed the keeper.

An attendant rushed to the room where the boy usually slept, and came
back with the report that the bed had not been occupied. Then there was
a search outside for tracks, but the rain had obliterated them all. The
keeper was in despair. He did not believe that Benedict could have
survived the storm of the night, and he did not doubt that the boy had
undertaken to hide his father somewhere.

"Go out, all of you, all round, and find 'em," hoarsely whispered Mr.
Buffum, "and bring 'em back, and say nothing about it."

The men, including several of the more reliable paupers, divided
themselves into little squads, and departed without breakfast, in order
to get back before the farmers should drive by on their way to church.
The orchards, the woods, the thickets--all po