who is a successful merchant, and
lives in a fine house, with horses and carriages, and all that; and this
poor man has written to his son, but has never had any answer. So now
he is going to walk to Cincinnati to see him. He knows he will not be
turned away if he can once meet his son, face to face. He was very tired
when he stopped here,--and he has ever and ever so far to walk yet, you
know,--and so after I had given him something to eat, I let him lie down
in the outer kitchen, on that roll of rag-carpet that is there. I spread
it out for him. It is a hard bed for one who has known comfort, but he
seems to sleep soundly."

"Let me see him," said I, and I walked back to the outer kitchen.

There lay the unsuccessful broker fast asleep. His face, which was
turned toward me as I entered, showed that it had been many days since
he had been shaved, and his hair had apparently been uncombed for about
the same length of time. His clothes were very old, and a good deal
torn, and he wore one boot and one shoe.

"Whew!" said I. "Have you been giving him whisky?"

"No," whispered Euphemia, "of course not. I noticed that smell, and he
said he had been cleaning his clothes with alcohol."

"They needed it, I'm sure," I remarked as I turned away. "And now," said
I, "where's the girl?"

"This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look frightened."

"Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station again.
Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice little walk for
you."

I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to do
with this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I woke him
up and drove him off,--and I might have difficulty in doing it,--there
was every reason to believe that he would not go far, but return
at night and commit some revengeful act. I never saw a more
sinister-looking fellow. And he was certainly drunk. He must not be
allowed to wander about our neighborhood. I would go for the constable
and have him arrested.

So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the
outside door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried off.
On the way I told her what I intended to do, and what I thought of
our guest. She answered scarcely a word, and I hoped that she was
frightened. I think she was.

The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a
creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody