bar as a man. He mixes a toddy or a punch just as well as I can."

"But," I suggested, "are you not a little afraid of placing one so
young in the way of temptation?"

"Temptation!" The open brows of Simon Slade contracted a little.
"No, sir!" he replied, emphatically. "The till is safer under his
care than it would be in that of one man in ten. The boy comes,
sir, of honest parents. Simon Slade never wronged anybody out of a
farthing."

"Oh," said I, quickly, "you altogether misapprehend me. I had no
reference to the till, but to the bottle."

The landlord's brows were instantly unbent, and a broad smile
circled over his good-humored face.

"Is that all? Nothing to fear, I can assure you. Frank has no
taste for liquor, and might pour it out for mouths without a drop
finding its way to his lips. Nothing to apprehend there, sir--
nothing."

I saw that further suggestions of danger would be useless, and so
remained silent. The arrival of a traveler called away the
landlord, and I was left alone for observation and reflection. The
bar adjoined the neat sitting-room, and I could see, through the
open door, the customer upon whom the lad was attending. He was a
well-dressed young man--or rather boy, for he did not appear to be
over nineteen years of age--with a fine, intelligent face, that
was already slightly marred by sensual indulgence. He raised the