The summer passed, Link and Sanford spending their time in the bank--that is, when not out swimming or fishing with the boys. But July and August were terribly hot and dry, and oats and corn were only half-crop, and the farmers were grumbling. Some of them were forced to draw on the bank instead of depositing. McPhail came in, one day in November, to draw a thousand dollars to pay for a house and lot he had recently bought. Sanford was alone. He whistled. "Phew! You're comin' at me hard. Come in to-morrow. Link's gone down to the city to get some money." "All right," said McPhail; "any time." "Goin' t' snow?" "Looks like it. I'll haf to load a lot o' ca'tridges ready f'r biz." About an hour later old lady Bingham burst upon the banker, wild and breathless. "I want my money," she announced. "Good-morning, Mrs. Bingham. Pleasant--" "I want my money. Where's Lincoln?" She had read that morning of two bank failures--one in Nova Scotia and one in Massachusetts--and they seemed providential warnings to her. Lincoln's absence confirmed them. "He's gone to St. Paul--won't be back till the five-o'clock train. Do you need some money this morning? How much?" "All of it, sir. Every cent." Sanford saw something was out of gear. He tried to explain. "I've sent your son to St. Paul after some money--" "Where's my money? What have you done with that?" In her excitement she thought of her money just as she hand handed it in--silver and little rolls and wads of bills. "If you'll let me explain--" "I don't want you to explain nawthin'. Jest hand me out my money." Two or three loafers, seeing her gesticulate, stopped on the walk outside and looked in at the door. Sanford was annoyed, but he remained calm and persuasive. He saw that something had caused a panic in the good, simple old woman. He wished for Lincoln as one wishes for a policeman sometimes. "Now, Mrs. Bingham, if you'll only wait till Lincoln--" "I don't want 'o wait. I want my money, right now." "Will fifty dollars do?" "No, sir; I want it all--every cent of it--jest as it was." "But I can't do that. Your money is gone--" "Gone? Where is it gone? What have you done with it? You thief--" "'Sh!" He tried to quiet her. "I mean I can't give you your money--" "Why can't you?" she stormed, trotting nervously on her feet as she stood there. "Because--if you'd let me explain--we don't keep the money just as it comes to us. We pay it out, and take in other--" Mrs. Bingham was getting more and more bewildered. She now had only one clear idea--she couldn't get her money. Her voice grew tearful like an angry child's. "I want my money--I knew you'd steal it--that I worked for. Give me my money." Sanford hastily handed her some money. "Here's fifty dollars. You can have the rest when--"