“No, but we have paupers sometimes,” and Jim looked Yates directly in the eye.

“What paupers?”

“From Sevenoaks.”

“And do they bring tin-ware?”

“Sartin they do; leastways, one on ’em did, an’ I never seen but one in the woods, an’ he come here one night tootin’ on a tin horn, an’ blowin’ about bein’ the angel Gabrel.  Do you see my har?”

“Rather bushy, Jim.”

“Well, that’s the time it come up, an’ it’s never been tired enough to lay down sence.”

“What became of Gabriel?”

“I skeered ‘im, and he went off into the woods pertendin’ he was tryin’ to catch a bullet.  That’s the kind o’ ball I allers use when I have a little game with a rovin’ angel that comes kadoodlin’ round me.”

“Did you ever see him afterward?” inquired Yates.

“Yes, I seen him.  He laid down one night under a tree, an’ he wasn’t called to breakfast, an’ he never woke up.  So I made up my mind he’d gone to play angel somewheres else, an’ I dug a hole an’ put ’im into it, an’ he hain’t never riz, if so be he wasn’t Number ‘leven, an’ his name was Williams.”

Yates did not laugh, but manifested the most eager interest.

“Jim,” said he, “can you show me his bones, and swear to your belief that he was an escaped pauper?”

“Easy.”

“Was there a man lost from the poor-house about that time?”

“Yes, an’ there was a row about it, an’ arterward old Buffum was took with knowin’ less than he ever knowed afore.  He always did make a fuss about breathin’, so he give it up.”

“Well, the man you buried is the man I’m after.”

“Yes, an’ old Belcher sent ye.  I knowed it.  I smelt the old feller when I heern yer paddle.  When a feller works for the devil it ain’t hard to guess what sort of a angel he is.  Ye must feel mighty proud o’ yer belongins.”

“Jim, I’m a lawyer; it’s my business.  I do what I’m hired to do.”

“Well,” responded Jim, “I don’t know nothin’ about lawyers, but I’d rather be a natural born cuss nor a hired one.”

Yates laughed, but Jim was entirely sober.  The lawyer saw that he was unwelcome, and that the sooner he was out of Jim’s way, the better that freely speaking person would like it.  So he said quietly: 

“Jim, I see that I am not welcome, but I bear you no ill will.  Keep me to-night, and to-morrow show me this man’s bones, and sign a certificate of the statements you have made to me, and I will leave you at once.”

The woodsman made no more objection, and the next morning, after breakfast, the three men went together and found the place of the pauper’s burial.  It took but a few minutes to disinter the skeleton, and, after a silent look at it, it was again buried, and all returned to the cabin.  Then the lawyer, after asking further questions, drew up a paper certifying to all the essential facts in the case, and Jim signed it.