stock had overflowed
the floor of the original building and instead of putting in shelves
to dispose of the stock conveniently, he built another and still
another shanty to hold the overflow. But in spite of queer methods he
was making money steadily. He kept each building securely locked, for
he said he wouldn't have idle folks sitting around in his store. He
went over to the station according to the railroad time schedule,
though it was only a flag station and was seldom flagged, and whenever
he saw a customer at the store door or on the way, he bustled over to
unlock the door, stumble around in the dark, for there were no
windows, and hunt out what they wanted.

Bacon, molasses, dress-goods, coffins and farm implements were on
close terms of intimacy and whatever was wanted Mr. Follet could
produce with amazing promptness.

Such methods, however, consumed a great deal of time on the path
between his home and the store, and Steve filled an urgent need of the
combined establishment.

One morning at breakfast in early autumn Mr. Follet was in a great
flutter of excitement. A travelling auditor of the railroad was to be
there for the day looking over his accounts and this not frequent
event was a sore trial to both the station-master and the auditor.
Each time Mr. Follet said to him nervously: "Now, you know I can't
keep things like the road tells me to, and if things don't just come
out even I'll make up whatever's lacking."

When the auditor, a big, broad-shouldered, kindly-faced gentleman
arrived on this particular morning, and was seated for work, Mr.
Follet made his usual statement.

"All right, Mr. Follet, all right," said the genial auditor, "we know
you are straight as a string. Are you sure you've got all the ticket
stubs?" he continued as Mr. Follet brought out some bits of pasteboard
from a big bushel basket.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure," said Mr. Follet. "I don't let nobody in here but
myself and so nothing is out of place." Then thinking a minute, he
said, "Well now I do believe I stuck a few stubs in this tin pail."
He looked, and sure enough there were a few more.

"And the bills of lading," said the auditor, "are these all?"

Mr. Follet pondered a moment and then brightening, exclaimed: "Why no,
I stuck a few of them in one of these here coffins one day for safe
keeping," and he stepped over to a grim pine coffin keeping company
with a pile of gay bandanas, and brought forth another bunch of bills.
Bu