Courtin’ is like dyin’; ye can’t trust it to another feller.  Ye’ve jest got to go it alone.’  An’ then he laughed, an’ says he:  ‘Jim, I wish ye good luck, an’ I hope ye’ll live to have a little feller o’ yer own.’  An’ says I:  ’Old Jerusalem!  If I ever have a little feller o’ my own,’ says I, ’this world will have to spread to hold me.’”

Then Jim put his head down between his knees, and thought.  When it emerged from its hiding his eyes were moist, and he said: 

“Ye must ’scuse me, Mr. Benedict, for ye know what the feelin’s of a pa is.  It never come to me in this way afore.”

Benedict could not help smiling at this new exhibition of sympathy; for Jim, in the comprehension of his feelings in the possible event of possessing offspring, had arrived at a more vivid sense of his companion’s bereavement.

“Now, I tell ye what it is,” said Jim.  “You an’ me has got to be brushin’ round.  We can’t set here an’ think about them that’s gone; an’ now I want to tell ye ’bout another thing that Mr. Balfour said.  Says he:  ‘Jim, if ye’re goin’ to build a house, build a big one, an’ keep a hotel.  I’ll fill it all summer for ye,’ says he.  ‘I know lots o’ folks,’ says he, ‘that would be glad to stay with ye, an’ pay all ye axed ’em.  Build a big house,’ says he, ‘an’ take yer time for’t, an’ when ye git ready for company, let a feller know.’  I tell ye, it made my eyes stick out to think on’t.  ’Jim Fenton’s hotel! says I.  ’I don’t b’lieve I can swing it.’  ‘If ye want any more money’n ye’ve got,’ says he, ’call on me.’”

The idea of a hotel, with all its intrusions upon his privacy and all its diversions, was not pleasant to Mr. Benedict; but he saw at once that no woman worthy of Jim could be expected to be happy in the woods entirely deprived of society.  It would establish a quicker and more regular line of communication with Sevenoaks, and thus make a change from its life to that of the woods a smaller hardship.  But the building of a large house was a great enterprise for two men to undertake.

The first business was to draw a plan.  In this work Mr. Benedict was entirely at home.  He could not only make plans of the two floors, but an elevation of the front; and when, after two days of work, with frequent questions and examinations by Jim, his drawings were concluded, they held a long discussion over them.  It was all very wonderful to Jim, and all very satisfactory—­at least, he said so; and yet he did not seem to be entirely content.

“Tell me, Jim, just what the trouble is,” said his architect, “for I see there’s something wanting.”

“I don’t see,” said Jim, “jest where ye’re goin’ to put ’im.”

“Who do you mean?  Mr. Balfour?”

“No; I don’t mean no man.”

“Harry?  Thede?”

“No; I mean, s’posin’.  Can’t we put on an ell when we want it?”

“Certainly.”

“An’ now, can’t ye make yer picter look kind o’ cozy like, with a little feller playin’ on the ground down there afore the stoop?”