of a feller that would cheat a man out of a jews-harp ’cause he liked to fool with it.  Arter all, this sendin’ the boy off is jest turnin’ ‘im out to pastur’ to grow, an’ takin’ ’im in in the fall.  He may git his head up so high t’we can’t git the halter on ’im again, but he’ll be worth more to somebody that can, nor if we kep ’im in the stable.  I sh’ll hate to say good-bye t’ the little feller, but I sh’ll vote to have ’im go, unanimous.”

Mr. Benedict was not a man who had will enough to withstand the rational and personal considerations that were brought to bear upon him, and then the two boys were brought into the consultation.  Thede was overjoyed with the prospect of having for a home companion the boy to whom he had become so greatly attached, and poor Harry was torn by a conflict of inclinations.  To leave Jim and his father behind was a great sorrow; and he was half angry with himself to think that he could find any pleasure in the prospect of a removal.  But the love of change, natural to a boy, and the desire to see the wonders of the great city, with accounts of which Thede had excited his imagination, overcame his inclination to remain in the camp.  The year of separation would be very short, he thought, so that, after all, it was only a temporary matter.  The moment the project of going away took possession of him, his regrets died, and the exit from the woods seemed to him like a journey into dreamland, from which he should return in the morning.

How to get the lad through Sevenoaks, where he would be sure to be recognised, and so reveal the hiding-place of his father, became at once a puzzling question.  Mr. Balfour had arranged with the man who brought him into the woods to return in a fortnight and take him out, and as he was a man who had known the Benedicts it would not be safe to trust to his silence.

It was finally arranged that Jim should start off at once with Harry, and engage Mike Conlin to go through Sevenoaks with him in the night, and deliver him at the railroad at about the hour when the regular stage would arrive with Mr. Balfour.  The people of Sevenoaks were not travelers, and it would be a rare chance that should bring one of them through to that point.  The preparations were therefore made at once, and the next evening poor Benedict was called upon to part with his boy.  It was a bitter struggle, but it was accomplished, and, excited by the strange life that was opening before him, the boy entered the boat with Jim, and waved his adieus to the group that had gathered upon the bank to see them off.

Poor Turk, who had apparently understood all that had passed in the conversations of the previous day, and become fully aware of the bereavement that he was about to suffer, stood upon the shore and howled and whined as they receded into the distance.  Then he went up to Thede, and licked his hand, as if he would say; “Don’t leave me as the other boy has done; if you do, I shall be inconsolable.”