cashier
of a bank. George Benton never came near him, and was never heard to
inquire about him. George got to indulging in long absences from the
town; there were ill reports about him, but nothing definite.

One winter's night some masked burglars forced their way into the bank,
and found Edward Mills there alone. They commanded him to reveal the
"combination," so that they could get into the safe. He refused. They
threatened his life. He said his employers trusted him, and he could not
be traitor to that trust. He could die, if he must, but while he lived
he would be faithful; he would not yield up the "combination." The
burglars killed him.

The detectives hunted down the criminals; the chief one proved to be
George Benton. A wide sympathy was felt for the widow and orphans of the
dead man, and all the newspapers in the land begged that all the banks
in the land would testify their appreciation of the fidelity and heroism
of the murdered cashier by coming forward with a generous contribution
of money in aid of his family, now bereft of support. The result was
a mass of solid cash amounting to upward of five hundred dollars--an
average of nearly three-eights of a cent for each bank in the Union. The
cashier's own bank testified its gratitude by endeavoring to show (but
humiliatingly failed in it) that the peerless servant's accounts were
not square, and that he himself had knocked his brains out with a
bludgeon to escape detection and punishment.

George Benton was arraigned for trial. Then everybody seemed to forget
the widow and orphans in their solicitude for poor George. Everything
that money and influence could do was done to save him, but it all
failed; he was sentenced to death. Straightway the Governor was besieged
with petitions for commutation or pardon; they were brought by tearful
young girls; by sorrowful old maids; by deputations of pathetic widows;
by shoals of impressive orphans. But no, the Governor--for once--would
not yield.

Now George Benton experienced religion. The glad news flew all around.
From that time forth his cell was always full of girls and women and
fresh flowers; all the day long there was prayer, and hymn-singing,
and thanksgiving, and homilies, and tears, with never an interruption,
except an occasional five-minute intermission for refreshments.

This sort of thing continued up to the very gallows, and George Benton
went proudly home, in the black cap, before a wailing audienc