st Westland was a strictly
temperance village, and all the liquor to be obtained was exceedingly
bad, and some declared diluted by the waters of the village pond.

There was a very small stock of rum, gin, and whiskey, and very young
and morbid California wines, kept at the village drug store, and
dispensed by Albion Bennet. Albion required a deal of red-tape before
he would sell even these doubtful beverages for strictly medicinal
purposes. He was in mortal terror of being arrested and taken to the
county-seat at Newholm for violation of the liquor law. Albion,
although a young and sturdy man not past his youth, was exceedingly
afraid of everything. He was unmarried, and boarded at the hotel.
There he was divided between fear of burglars, if he slept on the
first floor, and of fire if he slept on the second. He compromised by
sleeping on the second, with a sufficient length of stout, knotted
muslin stowed away in his trunk, to be attached to the bed-post and
reach the ground in case of a conflagration.

There was no bank in East Westland, none nearer than Alford, six
miles away, and poor Albion was at his wit's end to keep his daily
receipts with safety to them and himself. He had finally hit upon the
expedient of leaving them every night with Sidney Meeks, who was
afraid of nothing. "If anything happens to your money, Albion," said
Sidney, "I'll make it good, even if I have to sell my wine-cellar."
Albion was afraid even to keep a revolver. His state of terror was
pitiable, and the more so because he had a fear of betraying it,
which was to some extent the most cruel fear of all. Sidney Meeks was
probably the only person in East Westland who understood how it was
with him, and he kept his knowledge to himself. Sidney was astute on
a diagnosis of his fellow-men's mentalities, and he had an almost
womanly compassion even for those weaknesses of which he himself was
incapable.

"Good; I'll keep what you have in your till every night for you, and
welcome, Albion," he had said. "I understand how you feel, living in
the hotel the way you do."

"Nobody knows who is coming and going," said Albion, blinking
violently.

"Of course one doesn't, and nobody would dream of coming to my house.
Everybody knows I am as poor as Job's off ox. You might get a
revolver, but I wouldn't recommend it. You look to me as if you might
sleep too sound to make it altogether safe."

"I do sleep pretty sound," admitted Albion, although he d