the sleep, and the bed which it rendered necessary, became the happiest
accidents of the journey.

For two long hours the horse plodded along the stony and uneven road,
and then the light began to redden in the east, and Jim could see the
road sufficiently to increase his speed with safety. It was not until
long after the sun had risen that Benedict awoke, and found himself too
weak to rise. Jim gave him more food, answered his anxious inquiries in
his own way, and managed to keep him upon his bed, from which he
constantly tried to rise in response to his wandering impulses. It was
nearly noon when they found themselves at the river; and the
preparations for embarkation were quickly made. The horse was tied and
fed, the wagon unfastened, and the whole establishment was left for Mike
to reclaim, according to the arrangement that Jim had made with him.

The woodsman saw that his patient would not be able to sit, and so felt
himself compelled to take along the bed. Arranging this with the pillows
in the bow of his boat, and placing Benedict upon it, with his boy at
his feet, he shoved off, and started up the stream.

After running along against the current for a mile, Benedict having
quietly rested meantime, looked up and said weakly:

"Jim, is this the gulf?"

"Yes," responded Jim, cheerfully. "This is the gulf, and a purty place
'tis too. I've seed a sight o' worser places nor this."

"It's very beautiful," responded Benedict. "We must be getting pretty
near."