and blustering sky, and pushed up the hill, still talking to himself,
and saying: "A little boy of about his haighth and bigness ain't a bad
thing to take."




CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH JIM FENTON APPLIES FOR LODGINGS AT TOM BUFFUM'S BOARDING-HOUSE,
AND FINDS HIS OLD FRIEND.


As Jim walked up to the door of the building occupied by Tom Buffum's
family, he met the head of the family coming out; and as, hitherto, that
personage has escaped description, it will be well for the reader to
make his acquaintance. The first suggestion conveyed by his rotund
figure was, that however scantily he furnished his boarders, he never
stinted himself in the matter of food. He had the sluggish, clumsy look
of a heavy eater. His face was large, his almost colorless eyes were
small, and, if one might judge by the general expression of his
features, his favorite viand was pork. Indeed, if the swine into which
the devils once entered had left any descendants, it would be legitimate
to suppose that the breed still thrived in the most respectable sty
connected with his establishment. He was always hoarse, and spoke either
in a whisper or a wheeze. For this, or for some other reason not
apparent, he was a silent man, rarely speaking except when addressed by
a question, and never making conversation with anybody. From the time he
first started independently in the world, he had been in some public
office. Men with dirty work to do had found him wonderfully serviceable,