some about my comin' to
time. It don't seem jest the thing for a woman to shell out money to a
man. My nater goes agin it. I feel it all over me, an' I vow, I b'lieve
that if the little woman had did that thing to me, I sh'd rub out my
reckonin' an' start new."

"It's all right, though, Jim," responded Benedict,
good-naturedly--"right for the woman to give it, and right for me to
receive it. Don't trouble yourself at all about it."

Benedict's assurance did little to relieve Jim's bewilderment, who still
thought it a very improper thing to receive money from a woman. He did
not examine himself far enough to learn that Benedict's independence of
his own care and provision was partly the cause of his pain. Five
hundred dollars in the woods was a great deal of money. To Jim's
apprehension, the man had become a capitalist. Some one beside
himself--some one richer and more powerful than himself--had taken the
position of benefactor toward his friend. He was glad to see Benedict
happy, but sorry that he could not have been the agent in making him so.

"Well, I can't keep ye forever'n' ever, but I was a hopin' ye'd hang by
till I git hold of the little woman," said Jim.

"Do you suppose I would leave you now, Jim?"

"Well, I knowed a yoke o' cattle couldn't start ye, with a hoss ahead on
'em; but a woman, Mr. Benedict "--and Jim's voice sunk to a solemn and
impressive key--"a woman with the right kind of an eye, an' a takin'
way, is stronger nor a steam Injun. She can snake ye 'round anywhere;
an' the queerest thing about it is that a feller's willin' to go, an'
thinks it's purty. She tells ye to come, an' ye come smilin'; and then
she tells ye to go, an' ye go smilin'; and then she winds ye 'round her
finger, and ye feel as limber an' as willin' as if ye was a whip-lash,
an' hadn't nothin' else to do."

"Nevertheless, I shall stay with you, Jim."

"Well, I hope ye will; but don't ye be too sartin; not that I'm goin' to
stan' atween ye an' good luck, but if ye cal'late that a woman's goin'
to let ye do jest as ye think ye will--leastways a woman as has five
hundred dollars in yer pocket--yer eddication hasn't been well took care
on. If I was sitooated like you, I'd jest walk up to the pastur'-bars
like a hoss, an' whinner to git in, an' expect to be called with a
corn-cob when she got ready to use me."

"Still, I shall stay with you, Jim."

"All right; here's hopin', an' here's my hand."

Benedict's letter, besides