ly under the lamp, the man stopped. The light,
falling directly upon the package he carried, showed it to be a bundle
of hides all ready for tanning. Here he stopped, and drew out a piece
of crumpled newspaper from his pocket. Smoothing out the creases as
carefully as he could, he held it up towards the lamp, and read once
more the strange words that he already knew almost by heart.

This notice was printed in large letters in the advertisement column:
'WHOEVER stole a lot of hides on the fifth day of the present month
is HEREBY informed that their owner has a sincere wish to be his
friend. If poverty tempted him to this false step the owner will keep
the whole transaction secret, and will gladly put him in the way of
obtaining money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind.'

'If poverty tempted him to this false step,' the man repeated to
himself half aloud. 'Tanner Savery wraps up his meaning in fine words,
but their sense is plain enough. If it was being poor that drove a man
to become a thief and to steal these hides from the shadow of that
dark archway down by the river last Sunday night,--suppose it was
poverty, well what then? Friend Savery "will gladly put him in the way
of obtaining money by means more likely to bring him peace of mind."
Will he indeed? Can I trust him? Is it a hoax? I would rather do
without the money now, if only I could get rid of these hides, and of
their smell, that sticks to a man's nostrils even as sin does to his
memory. But the tanner promises to give me back peace of mind, does
he? Well, that's a fair offer and worth some risk. I'll knock once
more at his door and see what happens.'

Stuffing the newspaper into his pocket he walked quickly up the road
again, back to the square house, and up the sanded steps. Again he
lifted the brass knocker, and again 'knock! knock! knock!' rang out on
the night air. But this time the knocking was less tremulous, and as
it happened the inmates of the house were crossing the hall on their
way to bed and heard the sound at once. In less than a minute the door
opened, and a square brass candlestick, held high up, threw its light
out into the street. The candlestick was held by a tall man with
greyish white hair, whom all the town knew as Tanner Savery. Peeping
behind his shoulder appeared his wife's gentle face, surmounted by the
clear muslin of a Quakeress's cap. The man on the doorstep never
lifted up his eyes to the couple. 'I've brought th