wn; and if pressed they would also
acknowledge that the mere fact that a young man hailed from Hadleyburg
was all the recommendation he needed when he went forth from his natal
town to seek for responsible employment.

But at last, in the drift of time, Hadleyburg had the ill luck to offend
a passing stranger--possibly without knowing it, certainly without
caring, for Hadleyburg was sufficient unto itself, and cared not a rap
for strangers or their opinions. Still, it would have been well to
make an exception in this one's case, for he was a bitter man, and
revengeful. All through his wanderings during a whole year he kept his
injury in mind, and gave all his leisure moments to trying to invent a
compensating satisfaction for it. He contrived many plans, and all of
them were good, but none of them was quite sweeping enough: the poorest
of them would hurt a great many individuals, but what he wanted was a
plan which would comprehend the entire town, and not let so much as one
person escape unhurt. At last he had a fortunate idea, and when it fell
into his brain it lit up his whole head with an evil joy. He began to
form a plan at once, saying to himself "That is the thing to do--I will
corrupt the town."

Six months later he went to Hadleyburg, and arrived in a buggy at the
house of the old cashier of the bank about ten at night. He got a sack
out of the buggy, shouldered it, and staggered with it through the
cottage yard, and knocked at the door. A woman's voice said "Come in,"
and he entered, and set his sack behind the stove in the parlour, saying
politely to the old lady who sat reading the "Missionary Herald" by the
lamp:

"Pray keep your seat, madam, I will not disturb you. There--now it is
pretty well concealed; one would hardly know it was there. Can I see
your husband a moment, madam?"

No, he was gone to Brixton, and might not return before morning.

"Very well, madam, it is no matter. I merely wanted to leave that sack
in his care, to be delivered to the rightful owner when he shall be
found. I am a stranger; he does not know me; I am merely passing through
the town to-night to discharge a matter which has been long in my mind.
My errand is now completed, and I go pleased and a little proud, and
you will never see me again. There is a paper attached to the sack which
will explain everything. Good-night, madam."

The old lady was afraid of the mysterious big stranger, and was glad to
see him go. But her