’Zeki’l felt annoyed, and, closing up the shop, invited his guest into the house. They had supper, then sat down and smoked. Miller talked a good deal, and asked many questions about the neighborhood and the store; but at last he fell asleep, huddled up on the bed, and ’Zeki’l lay down on a bench, recollections of his prison life keeping him awake far into the night. When he awoke the next morning his guest was gone. He was glad of it. The man’s presence oppressed him—brought a sense of degradation. But what were his feelings when he heard that Mr. Davy Tanner’s store had been robbed, the mail-box rifled, letters torn open, and various articles of wearing apparel taken! He grew so pale, seemed so agitated and confused, that the man who had come up to tell the news stared wonderingly, half-suspiciously at him. He had brought the plow to the shop the evening before, and he now looked around for the stranger. "Where is your friend?" he inquired. "He is no friend of mine." "But he ’lowed that he knew you." "Yes." "Where?" "In prison," said ’Zeki’l, quietly, though he flushed with shame. "Aha! I lowed so, I jest ’lowed so, last night." ’Zeki’l tingled all over. He had never felt the degradation of being a convict more keenly than at that moment. He suspected Miller of the theft: this man’s tone implied that he suspected them both. It showed how slight a hold he had upon the trust of his neighbors if they could so readily believe that he would rob the best friend he had in the settlement. He went into the house, and sat down by the hearth, his head leaned between his hands. News of the robbery spread, and men left their work to go over to the store—stirred up, pleasantly excited. It was not often that Zion Hill settlement could boast of having anything so important as this robbery take place within its limits, and it must be made the most of. ’Zeki’l held aloof from the store, where he knew a large crowd had collected, but later in the day a small delegation came up to interview him. He read suspicion in every face, indignation in every eye. His quiet, honest life among them had been forgotten; they remembered only that he had been a convict. "Once a thief, always a thief, I say!" one man cried loudly.