"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 hell, 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 institution--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.