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M glad you got back." Rayburn's sister, Mrs. Lampson, said to him at breakfast the morning following his return on the midnight train. "We are having a glorious meeting at our church."

"Oh, is that so?" said the young man, sipping his coffee. "Who is conducting it?"

"Brother Maynell," answered Mrs. Lampson, enthusiastically, a tinge of color in her wan, thin face. "He's a travelling evangelist, who has been conducting revivals all over the South. It is really remarkable the interest he has stirred up. We are holding prayer-meetings morning and afternoon, though only the ladies meet in the afternoon. I conducted the meeting yesterday."

"Oh no; did you, really? Why, sis—"

"Don't begin to poke fun at me," said Mrs. Lamp-son. "I know I didn't do as well as some of the others, but I did the best I could, because I felt it was my duty."

"I was not going to make fun," said Miller, soothingly; "but it seems mighty strange to think of you standing up before all the rest, and—"

"It was not such a very hard thing to do," said the lady, who was older than her brother by ten years. She had gray hairs at her temples, and looked generally as if she needed out-door exercise and some diversion to draw her out of herself.

Rayburn helped himself to the deliciously browned, fried chicken, in its bed of cream gravy, and a hot puffy biscuit.

"And how does Mr. Lapsley, the regular preacher, like this innovation?" he questioned. "I reckon you all pay the new man a fee for stirring things up?"

"Yes; we agreed to give him two hundred dollars, half of which goes to an orphan asylum he is building. Oh, I don't think brother Lapsley minds much, but of course it must affect him a little to see the great interest brother Maynell has roused, and I suppose some are mean enough to think he could have done the same, if he had tried."

"No, it's clearly a case of a new broom," smiled Rayburn, buttering his biscuit. "Old Lap might get up there and groan and whine for a week and not touch a mourner with a ten-foot pole. The other chap knows his business, and part of his business is not to stay long enough to wear out his pet phrases or exhaust his rockets. I'm sorry for Lapsley; he's paid a regular salary, and is not good for any other sort of work, and this shows him up unfairly. In the long run, I believe he 'll get as many into the church as the other man, and they will be more apt to stick. Sister, that's the trouble with these tin-pan revivals. The biggest converts backslide. I reckon you are working over old material now."

Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip stiffened.

"I don't like your tone in speaking of such things," she said. "Indeed, Rayburn, I have been deeply mortified in the last week by some remarks that have been made about you. I didn't intend to mention them, but you make me do it."

"Oh, I knew they wouldn't let me rest," said Miller; "they never do in their annual shake-ups."

"Brother, you are looked on by nearly all religious workers in town as a dangerous young man—I mean dangerous to the boys who are just growing up, because they all regard you as a sort of standard to shape their conduct by. They see you going to balls and dances and playing cards, and they think it is smart and will not be interested in our meetings. They see that you live and seem to prosper under it, and they follow in your footsteps. I am afraid you don't realize the awful example you are setting. Brother May-nell has heard of you and asked me about you the other day. Some people think you have been in Atlanta all this time to avoid the meeting."

"I didn't know it was going on," said Miller, testily. "I assure you I never run from a thing like that. The best thing to do is to add fuel to the fire—it burns out quicker."

"Well, you will go out to meeting, won't you?" insisted the sweet-voiced woman. "You won't have them all thinking you have no respect for the religion of our father and mother—will you?"

Rayburn squirmed under this close fire.

"I shall go occasionally when there is preaching," he said, reluctantly. "I would be out of place at one of the—the knock-down and drag-out shouting-bees." Then, seeing her look of horror at the words which had unthoughtedly glided from his lips, he strove to make amends. "Oh, sister, do—do be reasonable, and look at it from my point of view. I don't believe that's the way to serve God or beautify the world. I believe in being happy in one's own way, just so that you don't tread on the rights of other people."

"But," said Mrs. Lampson, her eyes flashing, "you are treading on the rights of others. They are trying to save the souls of the rising generation in the community, and you and your social set use your influence in the other direction."

"But what about the rights of my social set, if you want to call it by that name?" Miller retorted, warmly. "We have the right to enjoy ourselves in our way, just as you have in yours. We don't interfere—we never ask you to close up shop so we can have a dance or a picnic, but you do. If we dare give a party while some revivalist is filling his pockets in town the revivalist jumps on us publicly and holds us up as examples of headlong plungers into fiery ruin. There is not a bit of justice or human liberty in that, and you 'll never reach a certain element till you quit such a course. Last year one of the preachers in this town declared in the pulpit that a girl could not be pure and dance a round dance. It raised the very devil in the hearts of the young men, who knew he was a dirty liar, and they got up as many dances out of spite as they possibly could. In fact, some of them came near knocking the preacher down on the street. I am a conservative sort of fellow, but I secretly wished that somebody would slug that man in the jaw."

"I'm really afraid you are worse than ever," sighed Mrs. Lampson. "I don't know what to do with you." She laughed good-naturedly as she rose and stood behind his chair, touching his head tenderly. "It really does make me rather mad," she confessed, "to hear them making you out such a bad stripe when I know what a wonderful man you really are for your age. I really believe some of them are jealous of your success and standing, but I do want you to be more religious." When Miller reached his office about ten o' clock and had opened the door he noticed that Craig's bank on the corner across the street was still closed. It was an unusual occurrence at that hour and it riveted Miller's attention. Few people were on the street, and none of them seemed to have noticed it. The church-bell in the next block was ringing for the revivalist's prayer-meeting, and Miller saw the merchants and lawyers hurrying by on their way to worship. Miller stood in his front door and bowed to them as they passed. Trabue hustled out of his office, pulling the door to with a jerk.

"Prayer-meeting?" he asked, glancing at Miller.

"No, not to-day," answered Miller; "got some writing to do."

"That preacher's a hummer," said the old lawyer. "I've never seen his equal. He'd 'a' made a bang-up criminal lawyer. Why, they say old Joe Murphy's converted—got out of his bed at midnight and went to Tim Slocum's house to get 'im to pray for 'im. He's denied thar was a God all his life till now. I say a preacher's worth two hundred to a town if it can do that sort of work."

"He's certainly worth it to Slocum," said Miller, with a smile. "If I'd been denying there was a God as long as he has, I'd pay more than that to get rid of the habit. Slocum's able, and I think he ought to foot that preacher's bill."

"You are a tough customer, Miller," said Trabue, with a knowing laugh. "You'd better look out—May-nell's got an eye on you. He 'll call out yore name some o' these days, an' ask us to pray fer you."

"I was just wondering if there's anything wrong with Craig," said Miller. "I see his door's not open."

"Oh, I reckon not," said the old lawyer. "He's been taking part in the meeting. He may have overslept."

There was a grocery-store near Miller's office, and the proprietor came out on the sidewalk and joined the two men. His name was Barnett. He was a powerful man, who stood six feet five in his boots; he wore no coat, and his suspenders were soiled and knotted.

"I see you-uns is watchin' Craig's door," he said. "I've had my eye on it ever since breakfast. I hardly know what to make of it. I went thar to buy some New York exchange to pay for a bill o' flour, but he wouldn't let me in. I know he's thar, for I seed 'im go in about an hour ago. I mighty nigh shook the door off'n the hinges. His clerk, that Western fellow, Win-ship, has gone off to visit his folks, an' I reckon maybe Craig's got all the book-keepin' to do."

"Well, he oughtn't to keep his doors closed at this time of day," remarked Miller. "A man who has other people's money in his charge can' t be too careful."

"He's got some o' mine," said the grocer, "and Mary Ann Tarpley, my wife's sister, put two hundred thar day before yesterday. Oh, I reckon nothin' s wrong, though I do remember I heerd somebody say Craig bought cotton futures an' sometimes got skeerd up a little about meetin' his obligations."

"I have never heard that," said Rayburn Miller, raising his brows.

"Well, I have, an' I've heerd the same o' Winship," said the grocer, "but I never let it go no furder. I ain't no hand to circulate ill reports agin a good member of the church."

Miller bit his lip and an unpleasant thrill passed over him as Trabue walked on. "Twenty-five thousand," he thought, "is no small amount. It would tempt five men out of ten if they were inclined to go wrong, and were in a tight."

The grocer was looking at him steadily.

"You bank thar, don't you?" he asked.

Miller nodded: "But I happen to have no money there right now. I made a deposit at the other bank yesterday."

"Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, wasn't you?" The grocer now spoke with undisguised uneasiness.

"Not at all," replied the lawyer. "I was doing some business for the other bank, and felt that I ought to favor them by my cash deposits."

"You don't think thar's anything the matter, do you?" asked the grocer, his face still hardening.

"I think Craig is acting queerly—very queerly for a banker," was Miller's slow reply. "He has always been most particular to open up early and—"

"Hello," cried out a cheery voice, that of the middle-aged proprietor of the Darley Flouring Mills, emerging from Barnett's store. "I see you fellows have your eye on Craig's front. If he was a drinking man we might suspicion he'd been on a tear last night, wouldn't we?"

"It looks damned shaky to me," retorted the grocer, growing more excited. "I'm goin' over there an' try that door again. A man 'at has my money can't attract the attention Craig has an' me say nothin'."

The miller pulled his little turf of gray beard a............