"Jest call me Jim," said the individual named, from his distant seat.

"James Fenton" was called to the stand, and Mr. Benedict stepped down.

Jim advanced through the crowd, his hair standing very straight in the air, and his face illumined by a smile that won every heart in the house, except those of the defendant and his counsel. A war-horse going into battle, or a hungry man going to his dinner, could not have manifested more rampant alacrity.

"Hold up your right hand," said the clerk.

"Sartin," said Jim. "Both on 'em if ye say so."

"You solemnly swear m-m-m-m-m-m-m-m-so help you G.o.d!"

"I raally wish, if ye ain't too tired, that ye'd say that over agin,"

said Jim. "If I'm a goin' to make a Happy David, I want to know what it is."

The clerk hesitated, and the judge directed him to repeat the form of the oath distinctly. When this was done, Jim said: "Thank ye; there's nothin' like startin' squar."

"James Fenton," said Mr. Balfour, beginning a question.

"Jest call me Jim: I ain't no prouder here nor I be at Number Nine,"

said the witness.

"Very well, Jim," said Mr. Balfour smiling, "tell us who you are."

"I'm Jim Fenton, as keeps a hotel at Number Nine. My father was an Englishman, my mother was a Scotchman, I was born in Ireland, an' raised in Canady, an' I've lived in Number Nine for more nor twelve year, huntin', trappin' an' keepin' a hotel. I hain't never ben eddicated, but I can tell the truth when it's necessary, an' I love my friends an' hate my enemies."

"May it please the Court," said Mr. Cavendish with a sneer, "I beg to suggest to the plaintiff's counsel that the witness should be required to give his religious views."

Mr. Belcher laughed, and Mr. Cavendish sniffed his lips, as if they had said a good thing.

"Certainly," responded Mr. Balfour. "What are your religious views, Jim?"

"Well," said Jim, "I hain't got many, but I sh'd be s'prised if there wasn't a brimstone mine on t'other side, with a couple o' picks in it for old Belcher an' the man as helps 'im."

The laugh was on Mr. Cavendish. The Court smiled, the audience roared, and order was demanded.

"That will do," said Mr. Cavendish. "The religious views of the witness are definite and satisfactory."

"Jim, do you know Paul Benedict?" inquired Mr. Balfour.

"Well, I do," said Jim. "I've knowed 'im ever sence he come to Sevenoaks."

"How did you make his acquaintance?"

"He used to come into the woods, fishin' an' huntin'. Him an' me was like brothers. He was the curisest creetur I ever seen, an' I hope he takes no 'fense in hearin' me say so. Ye've seen his tackle, Mr.

Balfour, an' that split bamboo o' his, but the jedge hasn't seen it. I wish I'd brung it along. Fond of fishin', sir?" And Jim turned blandly and patronizingly to the Court.

The Judge could not repress a little ripple of amus.e.m.e.nt, which, from a benevolent mouth, ran out over his face. Biting his lips, he said: "The witness had better be confined to the matter in hand."

"An' Jedge--no 'fense--but I like yer looks, an' if ye'll come to Number Nine--it's a little late now--I'll"--

Mr. Cavendish jumped up and said fiercely: "I object to this trifling."

"Jim," said Mr. Balfour, "the defendant's counsel objects to your trifling. He has a right to do so, particularly as he is responsible for starting it. Now tell me whether the Paul Benedict you knew was the only man of the name who has lived in Sevenoaks since you have lived in Number Nine?"

"He was the only one I ever hearn on. He was the one as invented Belcher's machines, any way. He's talked about 'em with me a thousand times."

"Is he in the room?"

"Mostly," said Jim, with his bland smile.

"Give me a direct answer, now."

"Yis, he's in this room, and he's a settin' there by you, an' he's been a stannin' where I stan' now."

"How do you know that this is the same man who used to visit you in the woods, and who invented Mr. Belcher's machines?"

"Well, it's a long story. I don't mind tellin' on it, if it wouldn't be too triflin'," with a comical wink at Mr. Cavendish.

"Go on and tell it," said Mr. Balfour.

"I knowed Benedict up to the time when he lost his mind, an' was packed off to the 'Sylum, an' I never seen 'im agin till I seen 'im in the Sevenoaks' poor-house. I come acrost his little boy one night on the hill, when I was a trampin' home. He hadn't nothin' on but rags, an' he was as blue an' hungry as a spring bar. The little feller teched me ye know--teched my feelins--an' I jest sot down to comfort 'im. He telled me his ma was dead, and that his pa was at old Buffum's, as crazy as a loon. Well, I stayed to old Buffum's that night, an' went into the poor-house in the mornin', with the doctor. I seen Benedict thar, an'

knowed him. He was a lyin' on the straw, an' he hadn't cloes enough on 'im to put in tea. An', says I, 'Mr. Benedict, give us your benediction;' an', says he, 'Jim!' That floored me, an' I jest cried and swar'd to myself. Well, I made a little 'rangement with him an' his boy, to take 'im to Abram's bosom. Ye see he thought he was in h.e.l.l, an' it was a reasomble thing in 'im too; an' I telled 'im that I'd got a settlement in Abram's bosom, an' I axed 'im over to spend the day. I took 'im out of the poor-house an' carried 'im to Number Nine, an' I cured 'im. He's lived there ever sence, helped me build my hotel, an' I come down with 'im, to 'tend this Court, an' we brung his little boy along too, an' the little feller is here, an' knows him better nor I do."

"And you declare, under oath, that the Paul Benedict whom you knew in Sevenoaks, and at Number Nine--before his insanity--the Paul Benedict who was in the poor-house at Sevenoaks and notoriously escaped from that inst.i.tution--escaped by your help, has lived with you ever since, and has appeared here in Court this morning," said Mr. Balfour.

"He's the same feller, an' no mistake, if so be he hain't slipped his skin," said Jim, "an' no triflin'. I make my Happy David on't."

"Did Mr. Belcher ever send into the woods to find him?'"

"Yis," said Jim, laughing, "but I choked 'em off."

"How did you choke them off?"

"I telled 'em both I'd lick 'em if they ever blowed. They didn't want to blow any, to speak on, but Mike Conlin come in with a hundred dollars of Belcher's money in his jacket, an' helped me nuss my man for a week; an'

I got a Happy David out o' Sam Yates, an' ther's the dockyment;" and Jim drew from his pocket the instrument with which the reader is already familiar.

Mr. Balfour had seen the paper, and told Jim that it was not necessary in the case. Mr. Belcher looked very red in the face, and leaned over and whispered to his lawyer.

"That is all," said Mr. Balfour.

Mr. Cavendish rose. "You helped Mr. Benedict to escape, did you, Jim?"

"I said so," replied Jim.

"Did you steal the key when you were there first?"

"No; I borrered it, an' brung it back an left it in the door."

"Did you undo the fastenings of the outside door?"