herself and a pair of slippers for her pastor, and then had
fallen peacefully to rest.

That same Saturday evening the postman had delivered a letter to each
of the other principal citizens--nineteen letters in all. No two of the
envelopes were alike, and no two of the superscriptions were in the same
hand, but the letters inside were just like each other in every
detail but one. They were exact copies of the letter received by
Richards--handwriting and all--and were all signed by Stephenson, but in
place of Richards's name each receiver's own name appeared.

All night long eighteen principal citizens did what their caste-brother
Richards was doing at the same time--they put in their energies trying
to remember what notable service it was that they had unconsciously done
Barclay Goodson. In no case was it a holiday job; still they succeeded.

And while they were at this work, which was difficult, their wives put
in the night spending the money, which was easy. During that one night
the nineteen wives spent an average of seven thousand dollars each out
of the forty thousand in the sack--a hundred and thirty-three thousand
altogether.

Next day there was a surprise for Jack Halliday. He noticed that
the faces of the nineteen chief citizens and their wives bore that
expression of peaceful and holy happiness again. He could not understand
it, neither was he able to invent any remarks about it that could damage
it or disturb it. And so it was his turn to be dissatisfied with life.
His private guesses at the reasons for the happiness failed in all
instances, upon examination. When he met Mrs. Wilcox and noticed
the placid ecstasy in her face, he said to himself, "Her cat has had
kittens"--and went and asked the cook; it was not so, the cook had
detected the happiness, but did not know the cause. When Halliday
found the duplicate ecstasy in the face of "Shadbelly" Billson (village
nickname), he was sure some neighbour of Billson's had broken his leg,
but inquiry showed that this had not happened. The subdued ecstasy in
Gregory Yates's face could mean but one thing--he was a mother-in-law
short; it was another mistake. "And Pinkerton--Pinkerton--he has
collected ten cents that he thought he was going to lose." And so on,
and so on. In some cases the guesses had to remain in doubt, in the
others they proved distinct errors. In the end Halliday said to
himself, "Anyway it roots up that there's nineteen Hadleyburg families
te