That afternoon Mr. Putchett took the train for New York, from which city he returned the next morning with quite a well-filled trunk.  It was afterward stated by a person who had closely observed the capitalist’s movements during his trip, that he had gone into a first-class clothier’s and demanded suits of the best material and latest cut, regardless of cost, and that he had pursued the same singular coarse at a gent’s furnishing store, and a fashionable jeweler’s.

Certain it is that on the morning of Mr. Putchett’s return a gentleman very well dressed, though seemingly ill at ease in his clothing, called at Mrs. Brown’s boarding-house, and engaged a room, and that the younger ladies pronounced him very stylish and the older ones thought him very odd.  But as he never intruded, spoke only when spoken to, and devoted himself earnestly and entirely to the task of amusing the children, the boarders all admitted that he was very good-hearted.

Among Alice’s numerous confidences, during her second stroll with Mr. Putchett, was information as to the date of her seventh birthday, now very near at hand.  When the day arrived, her adorer arose unusually early, and spent an impatient hour or two awaiting Alice’s appearance.  As she bade him good-morning, he threw about her neck a chain, to which was attached an exquisite little watch; then, while the delighted child was astonishing her parents and the other boarders, Mr. Putchett betook himself to the barn in a state of abject sheepishness.  He did not appear again until summoned by the breakfast-bell, and even then he sat with a very red face, and with eyes directed at his plate only.  The child’s mother remonstrated against so much money being squandered on a child, and attempted to return the watch, but he seemed so distressed at the idea that the lady dropped the subject.

For a fortnight, Mr. Putchett remained at the boarding-house, and grew daily in the estimation of every one.  From being thought queer and strange, he gradually gained the reputation of being the best-hearted, most guileless, most considerate man alive.  He was the faithful squire of all the ladies, both young and old, and was adored by all the children.  His conversational powers—­except on matters of business—­were not great, but his very ignorance on all general topics, and the humility born of that ignorance, gave to his manners a deference which was more gratifying to most ladies than brilliant loquacity would have been.  He even helped little Alice to study a Sunday-school lesson, and the experience was so entirely new to him, that he became more deeply interested than the little learner herself.  He went to church on Sunday, and was probably the most attentive listener the rather prosy old pastor had.

Of course he bathed—­everybody did.  A stout rope was stretched from a post on the shore to a buoy in deep water where it was anchored, and back and forth on this rope capered every day twenty or thirty hideously dressed but very happy people, among whom might always be seen Mr. Putchett with a child on his shoulder.