As soon as Jim had eaten his supper, and Mike’s wife had put up for him food enough to last him and such accessions to his party as he expected to secure during the night, and supplied him abundantly with wrappings, he went to the stable, mounted the low, strong wagon before which Mike had placed the horse, and with a hearty “good luck to ye!” from the Irishman ringing in his ears, started on the road to Sevenoaks.  This portion of the way was easy.  The road was worn somewhat, and moderately well kept; and there was nothing to interfere with the steady jog which measured the distance at the rate of six miles an hour.  For three steady hours he went on, the horse no more worried than if he had been standing in the stable.  At nine o’clock the lights in the farmers’ cottages by the wayside were extinguished, and the families they held were in bed.  Then the road began to grow dim, and the sky to become dark.  The fickle spring weather gave promise of rain.  Jim shuddered at the thought of the exposure to which, in a shower, his delicate friend would be subjected, but thought that if he could but get him to the wagon, and cover him well before its onset, he could shield him from harm.

The town clock was striking ten as he drove up to the stump where he was to meet Benedict’s boy.  He stopped and whistled.  A whistle came back in reply, and a dark little object crept out from behind the stump, and came up to the wagon.

“Harry, how’s your pa?” said Jim.

“He’s been very bad to-day,” said Harry.  “He says he’s going to Abraham’s bosom on a visit, and he’s been walking around in his room, and wondering why you don’t come for him.”

“Who did he say that to?” inquired Jim.

“To me,” replied the boy.  “And he told me not to speak to Mr. Buffum about it.”

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, and saying “All right!” he leaped from the wagon.  Then taking out a heavy blanket, he said: 

“Now, Harry, you jest stand by the old feller’s head till I git back to ye.  He’s out o’ the road, an’ ye needn’t stir if any body comes along.”

Harry went up to the old horse, patted his nose and his breast, and told him he was good.  The creature seemed to understand it, and gave him no trouble.  Jim then stalked off noiselessly into the darkness, and the boy waited with a trembling and expectant heart.

Jim reached the poor-house, and stood still in the middle of the road between the two establishments.  The lights in both had been extinguished, and stillness reigned in that portion occupied by Thomas Buffum and his family.  The darkness was so great that Jim could almost feel it.  No lights were visible except in the village at the foot of the hill, and these were distant and feeble, through an open window—­left open that the asthmatic keeper of the establishment might be supplied with breath—­he heard a stertorous snore.  On the other side matters were not so silent.  There were groans, and yells,