the poor drunkard's money go into the landlord's till, in order to
encourage his commendable enterprise in opening so good a tavern."

"We all speak with covert irony sometimes," answered the man, "as
I did then. Poor Joe Morgan! He is an old and early friend of
Simon Slade. They were boys together, and worked as millers under
the same roof for many years. In fact, Joe's father owned the
mill, and the two learned their trade with him. When old Morgan
died, the mill came into Joe's hands. It was in rather a worn-out
condition, and Joe went in debt for some pretty thorough repairs
and additions of machinery. By and by, Simon Slade, who was hired
by Joe to run the mill, received a couple of thousand dollars at
the death of an aunt. This sum enabled him to buy a share in the
mill, which Morgan was very glad to sell in order to get clear of
his debt. Time passed on, and Joe left his milling interest almost
entirely in the care of Slade, who, it must be said in his favor,
did not neglect the business. But it somehow happened--I will not
say unfairly--that at the end of ten years, Joe Morgan no longer
owned a share in the mill. The whole property was in the hands of
Slade. People did not much wonder at this; for while Slade was
always to be found at the mill, industrious, active, and attentive
to customers, Morgan was rarely seen on the premises. You would
oftener find him in the woods, with a gun over his shoulder, or
sitting by a trout brook, or lounging at the tavern. And yet
everybody liked Joe, for he was companionable, quick-witted, and
very kind-hearted. He would say sharp things, sometimes, when
people manifested little meannesses; but there was so much honey
in his gall, that bitterness rarely predominated.

"A year or two before his ownership in the mill ceased, Morgan