run up on?"

"Yes, Jim, and a thousand things you never thought of."

Jim did not pursue the conversation further, but went down very deep
into a brown study.

During September, he was in the habit of receiving the visits of
sportsmen, one of whom, a New York lawyer, who bore the name of Balfour,
had come into the woods every year for several successive years. He
became aware that his supplies were running low, and that not only was
it necessary to lay in a winter's stock of flour and pork, but that his
helpless _proteges_ should be supplied with clothing for the coming cold
weather. Benedict had become quite able to take care of himself and his
boy; so one day Jim, having furnished himself with a supply of money
from his long accumulated hoard, went off down the river for a week's
absence.

He had a long consultation with Mike Conlin, who agreed to draw his
lumber to the river whenever he should see fit to begin his enterprise.
He had taken along a list of tools, furnished him by Benedict; and Mike
carried him to Sevenoaks with the purpose of taking back whatever, in
the way of stores, they should purchase. Jim was full of reminiscences
of his night's drive, and pointed out to Mike all the localities of his
great enterprise. Things had undergone a transformation about the
poor-house, and Jim stopped and inquired tenderly for Tom Buffum, and
learned that soon after the escape of Benedict the man had gone off in
an apoplectic fit.

"He was a pertickler friend o' mine," said Jim, smiling in the face of
the new occupant, "an' I'm glad he went off so quick he didn't know
where he was goin'. Left some rocks, didn't he?"

The man having replied to Jim's tender solicitude, that he believed the
family were sufficiently well provided for, the precious pair of
sympathizers went off down the hill.

Jim and Mike had a busy day in Sevenoaks, and at about eight o'clock in
the evening, Miss Keziah Butterworth was surprised in her room by the
announcement that there was a strange man down stairs who desired to see
her. As she entered the parlor of the little house, she saw a tall man
standing upright in the middle of the room, with his fur cap in his
hand, and a huge roll of cloth under his arm.

"Miss Butterworth, how fare ye?" said Jim.

"I remember you," said Miss Butterworth, peering up into his face to
read his features in the dim light. "You are Jim Fenton, whom I met last
spring at the town meeting."

"I knowed you'