The day approached for his departure, and his agent, with his family, was installed in his house for its protection; and one fine morning, having first posted on two or three public places the announcement of a second monthly dividend to be paid through his agent to the stockholders in the Continental, he, with his family, rode down the hill in his coach, followed by an enormous baggage-wagon loaded with trunks, and passed through the village.  Half of Sevenoaks was out to witness the departure.  Cheers rent the air from every group; and if a conqueror had returned from the most sacred patriotic service he could not have received a heartier ovation than that bestowed upon the graceless fugitive.  He bowed from side to side in his own lordly way, and flourished and extended his pudgy palm in courtly courtesy.

Mrs. Belcher sat back in her seat, shrinking from all these demonstrations, for she knew that her husband was unworthy of them.  The carriages disappeared in the distance, and then—­sad, suspicious, uncommunicative—­the men went off to draw their last dividend and go about their work.  They fought desperately against their own distrust.  In the proportion that they doubted the proprietor they were ready to defend him; but there was not a man of them who had not been fairly warned that he was running his own risk, and who had not sought for the privilege of throwing away his money.

CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH JIM ENLARGES HIS PLANS FOR A HOUSE, AND COMPLETES HIS PLANS FOR A HOUSE-KEEPER.

When, at last, Jim and Mr. Benedict were left alone by the departure of Mr. Balfour and the two lads, they sat as if they had been stranded by a sudden squall after a long and pleasant voyage.  Mr. Benedict was plunged into profound dejection, and Jim saw that he must be at once and persistently diverted.

“I telled Mr. Balfour,” said he, “afore he went away, about the house.  I telled him about the stoop, an’ the chairs, an’ the ladder for posies to run up on, an’ I said somethin’ about cubberds and settles, an’ other thingembobs that have come into my mind; an’ says he:  ‘Jim, be ye goin’ to splice?’ An’ says I:  ’If so be I can find a little stick as’ll answer, it wouldn’t be strange if I did.’  ‘Well,’ says he, ’now’s yer time, if ye’re ever goin’ to, for the hay-day of your life is a passin’ away.’  An’ says I:  ’No, ye don’t.  My hay-day has jest come, and my grass is dry an’ it’ll keep.  It’s good for fodder, an’ it wouldn’t make a bad bed.’”

“What did he say to that?” inquired Mr. Benedict.

“Says he:  ‘I shouldn’t wonder if ye was right.  Have ye found the woman?’ ‘Yes,’ says I.  ‘I have found a genuine creetur.’  An’ says he:  ’What is her name?’ An’ says I:  ‘That’s tellin’.  It’s a name as oughter be changed, an’ it won’t be my fault if it ain’t.’  An’ then says he:  ’Can I be of any ‘sistance to ye?’ An’ says I:  ‘No.