“Well, I’ve called, and I call you Jim.”

“All right; let’s see yer tackle,” said Jim.

Jim took the rod that Yates handed to him, looked it over, and then said:  “When ye come to Sevenoaks ye didn’t think o’ goin’ a fishin’.  This ’ere tackle wasn’t brung from the city, and ye ain’t no old fisherman.  This is the sort they keep down to Sevenoaks.”

“No,” said Yates, flushing; “I thought I should find near you the tackle used here, so I didn’t burden myself.”

“That seems reasomble,” said Jim, “but it ain’t.  A trout’s a trout anywhere, an’ ye hain’t got no reel.  Ye never fished with anything but a white birch pole in yer life.”

Yates was amused, and laughed.  Jim did not laugh.  He was just as sure that Yates had come on some errand, for which his fishing tackle was a cover, as that he had come at all.  He could think of but one motive that would bring the man into the woods, unless he came for sport, and for sport he did not believe his visitor had come at all.  He was not dressed for it.  None but old sportsmen, with nothing else to do, ever came into the woods at that season.

“Jim, introduce me to your friend,” said Yates, turning to Mr. Benedict, who had dropped his knife and fork, and sat uneasily witnessing the meeting, and listening to the conversation.

“Well, I call ‘im Number Ten.  His name’s Williams; an’ now if ye ain’t too tired, perhaps ye’ll tell us what they call ye to home.”

“Well, I’m Number Eleven, and my name’s Williams, too.”

“Then, if yer name’s Williams, an’ ye’re Number ’leven, ye want some supper.  Set down an’ help yerself.”

Before taking his seat, Yates turned laughingly to Mr. Benedict, shook his hand, and “hoped for a better acquaintance.”

Jim was puzzled.  The man was no ordinary man; he was good-natured; he was not easily perturbed; he was there with a purpose, and that purpose had nothing to do with sport After Yates had satisfied his appetite with the coarse food before him, and had lighted his cigar, Jim drove directly at business.

“What brung ye here?” said he.

“A pair of horses and a birch canoe.”

“Oh!  I didn’t know but ’twas a mule and a bandanner hankercher,” said Jim; “and whar be ye goin’ to sleep to-night?”

“In the canoe, I suppose, if some hospitable man doesn’t invite me to sleep in his cabin.”

“An’ if ye sleep in his cabin, what be ye goin’ to do to-morrer?”

“Get up.”

“An’ clear out?”

“Not a bit of it.”

“Well, I love to see folks make themselves to home; but ye don’t sleep in no cabin o’ mine till I know who ye be, an’ what ye’re arter.”

“Jim, did you ever hear of entertaining angels unaware?” and Yates looked laughingly into his face.

“No, but I’ve hearn of angels entertainin’ theirselves on tin-ware, an’ I’ve had ’em here.”

“Do you have tin peddlers here?” inquired Yates, looking around him.