self-sacrifice formed a fit corner stone upon which to build
such a glorious state. The old gentleman was a stock buyer, and
on the morning of that particular day of which our tale relates
he had received a large sum of money (large for those times) and
returned to his home late that afternoon. It was too near night
to distribute the money among the various farmers. After
consulting his good wife as to the best place for secreting it
he decided to bury the money in the ground beneath the puncheon
floor. Raising one or two of the huge planks, while his wife
kept watch from the doorway of their cabin, the old gentleman
dug a small hole in the ground and deposited the pouch which
held the money. Smoothing over the place he carefully relaid the
rough-hewn puncheon and, with an air of satisfaction in a work
well performed, he left the cabin to do his evening chores,
while the good housewife busied herself in preparing their
frugal meal.

The work being done the old man returned to the house where in
the twilight they ate their corn bread and potatoes with a
relish that only those who labor may know. The last faint notes
of the woodthrush came softly from the shadowy ravine, robins
caroled in chorus, then they, too, became silent.

Late in the afternoon from his leafy covert (one of the numerous
places found in this region, overlooking the road) peered the
treacherous eyes of this bold highwayman. Here he awaited the
coming of the twilight, patiently, silently, for he knew that
the old man was alone, and like a fierce wild beast, he did not
stir from his retreat until the gleam of light from the cabin
door announced his hour had come. Leaving his hiding-place, he