away to indite his characteristic letter to Major Doyle.

If the first communication had startled the little village, the second
fairly plunged it into a panic of excitement. Peggy's hand trembled as
he held out the five hundred dollar draft and glared from it to his
cronies with a white face.

"Suff'rin' Jehu!" gasped Nick Thorne. "Is it good?"

The paper was passed reverently around, and examined with a succession
of dubious head-shakes.

"Send for Bob West," suggested Cotting. "He's seen more o' that sort o'
money than any of us."

The widow Clarke's boy, who was present, ran breathlessly to fetch the
hardware dealer, who answered the summons when he learned that Peggy
McNutt had received a "check" for five hundred dollars.

West was a tall, lean man with shrewd eyes covered by horn spectacles
and a stubby gray mustache. He was the potentate of the town and reputed
to be worth, at a conservative estimate, in the neighborhood of ten
thousand dollars--"er more, fer that matter; fer Bob ain't tellin' his
business to nobody." Hardware and implements were acknowledged to be
paying merchandise, and West lent money on farm mortgages, besides. He
was a quiet man, had a good library in his comfortable rooms over the
store, and took the only New York paper that found its way into
Millville. After a glance at the remittance he said:

"It's a draft on Isham, Marvin & Company, the New York bankers. Good as