Many a time the old gentleman sat up half the night with the returned and noisy prodigal.

A word from the Squire would calm Jim for the time and would occasionally call forth a burst of repentant tears.

Jim's case, indeed, was one of the causes that led us at the old farm so bitterly to hate intoxicants.
That, however, is the dark side of Jim's infirmity; one of its more amusing sides was his bank book.

When Jim was himself, as we used to say of him, he wanted to do well and to thrive like Asa, and he asked the old Squire to hold back ten dollars from his wages every month and to deposit it for him in the new savings bank.

Mindful of his infirmity, Jim gave his bank book to grandmother to keep for him.
"Hide it," he used to say to her.