nest, I suppose
he'd kick out. Anyhow, he didn't get up, and I've always wondered at
it."

In Danville one might hear other stories wholly bearing out this latter
opinion, and always interesting--delightful, really. Thus, a long,
enduring political quarrel was once generated by an incident of no great
importance, save that it revealed an odd streak in the old patriarch's
character and his interpretation of charity and duty.

A certain young man, well known to the people of this county and to the
patriarch, came to Danville one day and either drank up or gambled away
a certain sum of money intrusted to him by his aunt for disposition in
an entirely different manner. When the day was all over, however, he was
not too drunk to realize that he was in a rather serious predicament,
and so, riding out of town, traveled a little way and then tearing his
clothes and marking his skin, returned, complaining that he had been set
upon by the wayside, beaten, and finally robbed. His clothes were in a
fine state of dilapidation after his efforts, and even his body bore
marks which amply seconded his protestation. In the slush and rain of
the dark village street he was finally picked up by the county treasurer
seemingly in a wretched state, and the latter, knowing the generosity
of White and the fact that his door was always open to those in
distress, took the young man by the arm and led him to the patriarch's
door, where he personally applied for him. The old patriarch, holding a
lamp over his head, finally appeared and peered outward into the
darkness.

"Yes," he exclaimed, as he always did, eyeing the victim; "what is it
you want of me?"

"Mr. White," said the treasurer, "it's me. I've got young Squiers here,
who needs your sympathy and aid tonight. He's been beaten and robbed out
here on the road while he was on his way to his mother's home."

"Who?" inquired the patriarch, stepping out on the porch and eyeing the
newcomer, the while he held the lamp down so as to get a good look.
"Billy Squiers!" he exclaimed when he saw who it was. "Mr. Morton, I'll
not take this man into my house. I know him. He's a drunkard and a liar.
No man has robbed him. This is all a pretense, and I want you to take
him away from here. Put him in the hotel. I'll pay his expenses for the
night, but he can't come into my home," and he retired, closing the door
after him.

The treasurer fell back amazed at this onslaught, but recovered
sufficiently t