Then came up the practical question concerning Mike’s ability to draw the lumber for the new house.  Mike thought he could hire a horse for his keeping, and a sled for a small sum, that would enable him to double his facilities for doing the job; and then a price for the work was agreed upon.

The next morning, Jim and Mr. Benedict pursued their journey to the lumber-mill, and there spent the day in selecting their materials, and filling out their specifications.

The first person Mr. Benedict saw on entering the mill was a young man from Sevenoaks, whom he had known many years before.  He colored as if he had been detected in a crime, but the man gave him no sign that the recognition was mutual.  His old acquaintance had no memory of him, apparently; and then he realized the change that must have passed upon him during his long invalidism and his wonderful recovery.

They remained with the proprietor of the mill during the night.

“I jest call ’im Number Ten,” said Jim, in response to the inquiries that were made of him concerning his companion, “He never telled me his name, an’ I never axed ’im.  I’m ‘Number Nine,’ an’ he’s ‘Number Ten,’ and that’s all thar is about it.”

Jim’s oddities were known, and inquiries were pushed no further, though Jim gratuitously informed his host that the man had come into the woods to get well and was willing to work to fill up his time.

On the following morning, Jim proposed to Mr. Benedict to go on to Sevenoaks for the purchase of more tools, and the nails and hardware that would be necessary in finishing the house.  The experience of the latter during the previous day showed him that he need not fear detection, and, now that Mr. Belcher was out of the way, Jim found him possessed by a strong desire to make the proposed visit.  The road was not difficult, and before sunset the two men found themselves housed in the humble lodgings that had for many years been familiar to Jim.  Mr. Benedict went into the streets, and among the shops, the next morning, with great reluctance; but this soon wore off as he met man after man whom he knew, who failed to recognize him.  In truth, so many things had happened, that the memory of the man who, long ago, had been given up as dead had passed out of mind.  The people would have been no more surprised to see a sleeper of the village cemetery among them than they would to have realized that they were talking with the insane pauper who had fled, as they supposed, to find his death in the forest.

They had a great deal to do during the day, and when night came, Jim could no longer be restrained from the visit that gave significance, not only to his journey, but to all his plans.  Not a woman had been seen on the street during the day whom Jim had not scanned with an anxious and greedy look, in the hope of seeing the one figure that was the desire of his eyes—­but he had not seen it.  Was she ill?  Had she left Sevenoaks?  He would not inquire, but he would know before he slept.