u come this mornin'. D'ye ever see anythin'
like that? How am I goin' to git it down?"

"Very singular," said the Doctor.

"Yes, an' look here! D'ye see the har on the back o' my hand? That
stands up jest the same. Why, Doctor, I feel like a hedgehog! What am I
goin' to do?"

"Why, this is really very interesting!" said the Doctor, taking out his
note-book. "What is your name?"

"Jim Fenton."

"Age?"

"Thirty or forty--somewhere along there."

"H'm!" exclaimed the Doctor, writing out the whole reply. "Occupation?"

"M.D., three C's, double X., two I's."

"H'm! What do you do?"

"Trap, mostly."

"Religious?"

"When I'm skeered."

"Nativity?"

"Which?"

"What is your parentage? Where were you born?"

"Well, my father was an Englishman, my mother was a Scotchman, I was
born in Ireland, raised in Canady, and have lived for ten year in Number
Nine."

"How does your head feel now?"

"It feels as if every har was a pin. Do you s'pose it'll strike in?"

The Doctor looked him over as if he were a bullock, and went on with his
statistics: "Weight, about two hundred pounds; height, six feet two;
temperament, sanguine-bilious."

"Some time when you are in Sevenoaks," said the Doctor, slipping his
pencil into its sheath in his note-book, and putting his book in his
pocket, "come and see me."

"And stay all night?" inquired Jim, innocently.

"I'd like to see the case again," said Dr. Radcliffe, nodding. "I shall
not detain you long. The matter has a certain scientific interest."

"Well, good-bye, Doctor," said Jim, holding down his hair. "I'm off for
Number Nine. I'm much obleeged for lettin' me go round with ye; an' I
never want to go agin."

Jim went out into the pleasant morning air. The sun had dispelled the
light frost of the night, the sky was blue overhead, and the blue-birds,
whose first spring notes were as sweet and fresh as the blossoms of the
arbutus, were caroling among the maples. Far away to the north he could
see the mountain at whose foot his cabin stood, red in the sunshine,
save where in the deeper gorges the snow still lingered. Sevenoaks lay
at the foot of the hill, on the other hand, and he could see the people
passing to and fro along its streets, and, perched upon the hill-side
among its trees and gardens, the paradise that wealth had built for
Robert Belcher. The first emotion that thrilled him as he emerged from
the shadows of misery and mental alienation was that of gratitu