Benedict looked down upon his torn and wretched clothing, and then
turned his pitiful eyes up to Jim, who saw the thoughts that were
passing in the poor man's mind.

"Never mind your clo'es," he said. "I dress jest the same there as I did
in Number Nine, and nobody says a word. The fact is, they don't mind
very much about clo'es there, any way. I'll come over and git ye, ye
know, an' interjuce ye, and ye shall have jest as good a time as Jim
Fenton can give ye."

"Shall I take my rifle along?" inquired Benedict.

"Yes, an' plenty of amanition. There ain't no game to speak on--only a
few pa'tridge; but we can shoot at a mark all day, ef we want to."

Benedict tottered to his feet and came to the grated door, with his eyes
all alight with hope and expectation. "Jim, you always were a good
fellow," said he, dropping his voice to a whisper, "I'll show you my
improvements. Belcher mustn't get hold of them. He's after them. I hear
him round nights, but he shan't have them. I've got a new tumbler,
and--"

"Well, never mind now," replied Jim. "It'll be jest as well when ye come
over to spend the day with me. Now ye look a here! Don't you say nothin'
about this to nobody. They'll all want to go, and we can't have 'em. You
an' I want to git red of the crowd, ye know. We allers did. So when I
come arter ye, jest keep mum, and we'll have a high old time."

All the intellect that Benedict could exercise was summoned to
comprehend this injunction. He nodded his head; he laid it up in his