promptly paid, through the agency of a three-months' promissory note,
and thus the most momentous result of the robbery was overcome. This
security for the future, however, scarcely consoled him for the painful
privation of the present. Without the watch, Alfred Barton felt that
much of his dignity and importance was lacking.

Dr. Deane greeted his visitor with respect, Martha with the courtesy due
to a guest, and Miss Betsy with the offhand, independent manner, under
which she masked her private opinions of the persons whom she met.

"Mark isn't at home, I see," said Mr. Barton, after having taken his
seat in the centre of the room: "I thought I'd have a little talk with
him about the wagon-house. I suppose he told you that I got Hallowell's
new barn for him?"

"Yes, and we're all greatly obliged to thee, as well as Mark," said the
Doctor. "The two jobs make a fine start for a young mechanic, and I hope
he'll do as well as he's been done by: there's luck in a good
beginning. By the bye, has thee heard anything more of Sandy Flash's
doings?"

Mr. Barton fairly started at this question. His own misfortune had been
carefully kept secret, and he could not suspect that the Doctor knew it;
but he nervously dreaded the sound of the terrible name.

"What is it?" he asked, in a faint voice.

"He has turned up in Bradford, this time, and they say has robbed Jesse
Frame, the Collector, of between four and five hundred dollars. The
Sheriff and a posse of men from the Valley hunted him for several days,