“I don't believe in sech fine feathers,” said Bishop, argumentatively. “I'd a leetle ruther wait till we see whether Wilson's a-goin' to put that road through--then we _could_ afford to put on a dab or two o' style. I don't know but I'd move down to Atlanta an' live alongside o' Bill, an' wear a claw-hammer coat an' a dicky cravat fer a change.” “Then you mought run fer the legislatur',” spoke up Abner Daniel, who had been an amused listener, “an' git up a law to pen up mad dogs at the dangerous part o' the yeer. Alf, I've always thought you'd be a' ornament to the giddy whirl down thar. William was ever' bit as green as you are when he fust struck the town. But he had the advantage o' growin' up an' sorter ripenin' with the place. It ud be hard on you at yore time o' life.” At this juncture Alan called their attention to a horseman far down the road. “It looks like Ray Miller's mare,” he remarked. “This is one of his busy days; he can' t be coming to fish.” “Railroad news,” suggested Abner. “It's a pity you hain't connected by telegraph.” They were all now sure that it was Miller, and with no little curiosity they moved nearer the gate. “By gum! he's been givin' his mare the lash,” said Abner. “She's fairly kivered with froth.” “Hello, young man,” Alan called out, as Miller dismounted at a hitching-post just outside the fence and fastened his bridle-rein. “Glad to see you; come in.” Miller bowed and smiled as he opened the gate and came forward to shake hands. “We are certainly glad you came, Mr. Miller,” said Mrs. Bishop, with all her quaint cordiality. “Ever since that day in the office I've wanted a chance to show you how much we appreciate what you done fer us. Brother Ab will bear me out when I say we speak of it mighty nigh ever'day.” Miller wore an inexpressible look of embarrassment, which he tried to lose in the act of shaking hands all round the group, but his platitudes fell to the ground. Abner, the closest observer among them, already had his brows drawn together as he pondered Miller's unwonted lack of ease. “Bring any fishing-tackle?” asked Alan. “No, I didn't,” said the lawyer, jerking himself to that subject awkwardly. “The truth is, I only ran out for a little ride. I've got to get back.” “Then it _is_ business, as brother Ab said,” put in Mrs. Bishop, tentatively. Miller lowered his eyes to the ground and then raised them to Alan's face. “Yes, it's railroad business,” said Abner, his voice vibrant with suspense. “And it's not favorable,” said Alan, bravely. “I can see that by your looks.” Miller glanced at his mare, and lashed the leg of his top-boots with his riding-whip. “No, I have bad news, but it's not about the railroad. I could have written, but I thought I'd better come myself.” “Adele!” gasped Mrs. Bishop. “You have heard--” “No, she's well,” said Miller. “It's about the money you put in Craig's bank.” “What about that?” burst from old Bishop's startled lips.