Jim and Mike had a busy day in Sevenoaks, and at about eight o'clock in the evening, Miss Keziah Butterworth was surprised in her room by the announcement that there was a strange man down stairs who desired to see her. As she entered the parlor of the little house, she saw a tall man standing upright in the middle of the room, with his fur cap in his hand, and a huge roll of cloth under his arm. "Miss Butterworth, how fare ye?" said Jim. "I remember you," said Miss Butterworth, peering up into his face to read his features in the dim light. "You are Jim Fenton, whom I met last spring at the town meeting." "I knowed you'd remember me. Women allers does. Be'n purty chirk this summer?" "Very well, I thank you, sir," and Miss Butterworth dropped a courtesy, and then, sitting down, she pointed him to a chair. Jim laid his cap on the floor, placed his roll of cloth upright between his knees, and, pulling out his bandana handkerchief, wiped his perspiring face. "I've brung a little job fur ye," said Jim. "Oh, I can't do it," said Miss Butterworth at once. "I'm crowded to death with work. It's a hurrying time of year." "Yes, I knowed that, but this is a pertickler job." "Oh, they are all particular jobs," responded Miss Butterworth, shaking her head. "But this is a job fur pertickler folks." "Folks are all alike to me," said Miss Butterworth, sharply. "These clo'es," said Jim, "are fur a good man an' a little boy. They has nothin' but rags on 'em, an' won't have till ye make these clo'es. The man is a pertickler friend o' mine, an' the boy is a cute little chap, an' he can pray better nor any minister in Sevenoaks. If you knowed what I know, Miss Butterworth, I don't know but you'd do somethin' that you'd be ashamed of, an' I don't know but you'd do something that I sh'd be ashamed of. Strange things has happened, an' if ye want to know what they be, you must make these clo'es." Jim had aimed straight at one of the most powerful motives in human nature, and the woman began to relent, and to talk more as if it were possible for her to undertake the job. "It may be," said the tailoress, thinking, and scratching the top of her head with a hair-pin, "that I _can_ work it in; but I haven't the measure." "Well, now, let's see," said Jim, pondering. "Whar is they about such a man? Don't ye remember a man that used to be here by the name of--of--Benedict, wasn't it?--a feller about up to my ear--only fleshier nor he was? An' the little feller--well, he's bigger nor Benedict's boy--bigger, leastways, nor he was then." Miss Butterworth rose to her feet, went up to Jim, and looked him sharply in the eyes. "Can you tell me anything about Benedict and his boy?" "All that any feller knows I know," said Jim, "an' I've never telled nobody in Sevenoaks." "Jim Fenton, you needn't be afraid of me." "Oh, I ain't. I like ye better nor any woman I seen." "But you needn't be afraid to tell me," said Miss Butterworth, blushing.