ringly, and with some embarrassment at the
stranger.

"That's one o' yer old friends, little woman," said Jim. "Don't give 'im
the cold shoulder. 'Tain't every day as a feller comes to ye from the
other side o' Jordan."

Miss Butterworth naturally suspected the stranger's identity, and was
carefully studying his face to assure herself that Mr. Benedict was
really in her presence. When some look of his eyes, or motion of his
body, brought her the conclusive evidence of his identity, she grasped
both his hands, and said:

"Dear, dear, Mr. Benedict! how much you have suffered! I thank God for
you, and for the good friend He has raised up to help you. It's like
seeing one raised from the dead."

Then she sat down at his side, and, apparently forgetting Jim, talked
long and tenderly of the past. She remembered Mrs. Benedict so well! And
she had so many times carried flowers and placed them upon her grave!
She told him about the troubles in the town, and the numbers of poor
people who had risked their little all and lost it in the great
speculation; of those who were still hoping against hope that they
should see their hard-earned money again; of the execrations that were
already beginning to be heaped upon Mr. Belcher; of the hard winter that
lay before the village, and the weariness of sympathy which had begun to
tell upon her energies. Life, which had been once so full of the
pleasure of action and industry, was settling, more and more, into dull
routine, and she could see nothing but trouble ahead, for herself and
for all those in whom she was interested.

Mr. Benedict, for the first time since Jim had rescued him from the
alms-house, became wholly himself. The sympathy of a woman unlocked his
heart, and he talked in his old way. He alluded to his early trials with
entire freedom, to his long illness and mental alienation, to his hopes
for his boy, and especially to his indebtedness to Jim. On this latter
point he poured out his whole heart, and Jim himself was deeply affected
by the revelation of his gratitude. He tried in vain to protest, for
Mr. Benedict, having found his tongue, would not pause until he had laid
his soul bare before his benefactor. The effect that the presence of the
sympathetic woman produced upon his _protege_ put a new thought into
Jim's mind. He could not resist the conviction that the two were suited
to one another, and that the "little woman," as he tenderly called her,
would be happier wi