It was five years after this that James was spoken of as an eloquent and successful minister in the state of C., and was settled in one of its most thriving villages. Late one autumn evening, a tall, bony, hard-favored man was observed making his way into the outskirts of the place.
"Halloa, there!" he called to a man over the other side of a fence; "what town is this 'ere?"
"It's Farmington, sir."
"Well, I want to know if you know any thing of a boy of mine that lives here?"
"A boy of yours? Who?"
"Why, I've got a boy here, that's livin' on the town, and I thought I'd jest look him up."
"I don't know any boy that is living on the town. What's his name?"
"Why," said the old man, pushing his hat off from his forehead, "I believe they call him James Benton."
"James Benton! Why, that is our minister's name!"