e with the steady jog which
measured the distance at the rate of six miles an hour. For three steady
hours he went on, the horse no more worried than if he had been standing
in the stable. At nine o'clock the lights in the farmers' cottages by
the wayside were extinguished, and the families they held were in bed.
Then the road began to grow dim, and the sky to become dark. The fickle
spring weather gave promise of rain. Jim shuddered at the thought of the
exposure to which, in a shower, his delicate friend would be subjected,
but thought that if he could but get him to the wagon, and cover him
well before its onset, he could shield him from harm.

The town clock was striking ten as he drove up to the stump where he was
to meet Benedict's boy. He stopped and whistled. A whistle came back in
reply, and a dark little object crept out from behind the stump, and
came up to the wagon.

"Harry, how's your pa?" said Jim.

"He's been very bad to-day," said Harry. "He says he's going to
Abraham's bosom on a visit, and he's been walking around in his room,
and wondering why you don't come for him."

"Who did he say that to?" inquired Jim.

"To me," replied the boy. "And he told me not to speak to Mr. Buffum
about it."

Jim breathed a sigh of relief, and saying "All right!" he leaped from
the wagon. Then taking out a heavy blanket, he said:

"Now, Harry, you jest stand by the old feller's head till I git back to
ye. He's out o' the road, an' ye needn't stir if any body comes along."

Harry went up to the old horse, patted his nose and his breast, and told
him he was good. The creature seemed to understand it, and gave him no
trouble. Jim then stalked off noiselessly into the darkness, and the boy
waited with a trembling and expectant heart.

Jim reached the poor-house, and stood still in the middle of the road
between the two establishments. The lights in both had been
extinguished, and stillness reigned in that portion occupied by Thomas
Buffum and his family. The darkness was so great that Jim could almost
feel it. No lights were visible except in the village at the foot of the
hill, and these were distant and feeble, through an open window--left
open that the asthmatic keeper of the establishment might be supplied
with breath--he heard a stertorous snore. On the other side matters were
not so silent. There were groans, and yells, and gabble from the reeking
and sleepless patients, who had been penned up for the long an