“Ye see, afther ye wint away that night I jist lay down an’ got a bit iv a shnooze, an’ in the mornin’ I shtarted for me owld horse.  It was a big thramp to where ye lift him, and comin’ back purty slow, I picked up a few shticks and put intil the wagin for me owld woman—­pine knots an’ the like o’ that.  I didn’t git home much afore darruk, and me owld horse wasn’t more nor in the shtable an’ I ‘atin’ me supper, quiet like, afore Belcher druv up to me house wid his purty man on the seat wid ‘im.  An’ says he:  ‘Mike Conlin!  Mike Conlin!  Come to the dour wid ye!’ So I wint to the dour, an’ he says, says he:  ’Hev ye seen a crazy old feller wid a b’y?’ An’ says I:  ’There’s no crazy owld feller wid a b’y been by me house in the daytime.  If they wint by at all at all, it was when me family was aslape.’  Then he got out of his wagin and come in, and he looked ’round in all the corners careless like, and thin he said he wanted to go to the barrun.  So we wint to the barrun, and he looked all about purty careful, and he says, says he:  ‘What ye been doin’ wid the owld horse on a Sunday, Mike?’ And says I to him, says I:  ’Jist a pickin’ up a few shticks for the owld woman.’  An’ when he come out he see the shticks in the wagin, and he says, says he:  ’Mike, if ye’ll find these fellers in the woods I’ll give ye five hundred dollars.’  And says I:  ‘Squire Belcher,’ says I (for I knowed he had a wake shpot in ’im), ’ye are richer nor a king, and Mike Conlin’s no betther nor a pauper himself.  Give me a hundred dollars,’ says I, ‘an’ I’ll thry it.  And be gorry I’ve got it right there’ (slapping his pocket.) ’Take along somethin’ for ’em to ate,’ says he, ’and faith I’ve done that same and found me min; an’ now I’ll stay wid ye fur a week an’ ’arn me hundred dollars.”

The week that Mike promised Jim was like a lifetime.  To have some one with him to share his vigils and his responsibility lifted a great burden from his shoulders.  But the sick man grew weaker and weaker every day.  He was assiduously nursed and literally fed with dainties; but the two men went about their duties with solemn faces, and talked almost in a whisper.  Occasionally one of them went out for delicate game, and by alternate watches they managed to get sufficient sleep to recruit their exhausted energies.

One morning, after Mike had been there four or five days, both stood by Benedict’s bed, and felt that a crisis was upon him.  A great uneasiness had possessed him for some hours, and then he had sunk away into a stupor or a sleep, they could not determine which.

The two men watched him for a while, and then went out and sat down on a log in front of the cabin, and held a consultation.

“Mike,” said Jim, “somethin’ must be did.  We’ve did our best an’ nothin’ comes on’t; an’ Benedict is nearer Abram’s bosom nor I ever meant he should come in my time.  I ain’t no doctor; you ain’t no doctor.  We’ve nussed ’im the best we knowed, but I guess he’s a goner.  It’s too thunderin’ bad, for I’d set my heart on puttin’ ’im through.”