6 NORTH SHORE BREEZE and Reminder 
her. This was quite an adventure to have a stranger enter 
the store on a stormy night and then ask him to sup with 
you. But she couldn’t let a man go hungry, Marie rea- 
soned with herself, knowing all the time that if he hadn't 
been young and as attractive as he was, she might have 
sent him half a mile up the road to old Mrs. Camp’s s, storm 
or no storm. Marie was glad, too, that old Anne was 
such a good cook, and that there was plenty to eat. As 
she was hesitating whether or not she would take up an- 
other bottle of lives, t the door suddenly opened, and a 
huge figure in oilskins blocked the doorway. 
“Why, Ben, the “girl vexclaimeds not 
pleased, “I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” 
Ben Webb grinned sheepishly. “I guess ye didn't, 
lil’ gal. But Uncle Sam’s mail has ter be delivered, and 
I be the only one ter do it,” he joked clumsily, as he threw 
the mail bag on the counter, and sending the fine spray over 
the goods displayed there. “A fierce night, ain’t it?” 
“Tt certainly is,” replied the girl from behind the 
counter, as she busily sorted the meagre mail. “Not a 
* soul has been in here since yesterday noon.” 
“Then ye ain’t heard the news?” questioned the con- 
stable in surprise from his perch on the cracker box. 
“News? News in Grantville?” Marie laughed. “No, 
indeed,” then severely, “Ben Webb, you are getting those 
crackers wet, and if you do you will have to pay for 
them.” 
The man jumped down quickly, and leaned over the 
altogether 
counter. ‘Marie,’ he whispered softly as his rasping 
voice would permit, “Marie, I think we kin git hitched 
soon.” 
“T’ve told you, Ben Webb, a dozea 
times I’ll never marry you. And I never will, so there.” 
The man laughed harshly. “Wait till you hear. The 
Pattersons were robbed last night.”’ 
The girl’s hand flew to her throat to check the cry 
that rose there. ‘Robbed,’ she gasped, her thoughts 
quickly turning to the man upstairs. Could he be—— 
She checked herself. No, no one with such a frank, open 
countenance as the stranger could be a thief. 
The man had seen the look of fear that crossed the 
girl’s sweet face. “You needn’t fear,” he mumbled, “I’m 
here. Yes, an’ he took an awful lot of stuff. An’ Mr. 
Patterson has offered a reward of $2000.00 for anyone 
who finds the thief and returns the yunk. Now, Marie, 
I’m goin’ ter git that reward, an’ then me an’ you kin git 
hitched.” 
The girl 
Patterson’s lovely things. 
her eyes to him. 
“Not all, but Marie, I’m a-goin’ to git that reward. The 
thief couldn’t ha got far away in this storm. Ye haven’t 
seen anyone, ha ye?” he asked suddenly, almost suspicious- 
ly, so the girl thought. 
The girl shook her head numbly. What if the hand- 
some stranger were the thief instead of a friend of Patter- 
son’s as he claimed to be; she tried to banish the thought, 
but the evidence seemed to 
“pay, - “ver might ast me ter have supper. 
The girl frowned. 
Ole Wes: 
She raised 
shuddered as if with cold. ‘All 
Were they taken?” 
* Ben began, 
I ain’t et yet.” 
Marie laughed nervously. “But I have,’ she lied. 
“T was just locking up, when you came in.” Her nervous 
hands moved mechanically among the letters and papers 
that littered the tiny counter. Ben leaned further over 
and caught the girl’s slender hands between his own big 
hard fists. 
Say, Marie, when I kitch this feller we kin run over 
to the Notch an’ git hitched. Say yes,” he pleaded, his 
hot breath fanning te girl’s cheek. 
Sept. 3, 1915. 
“No, no, no,” the girl almost screamed. “I will never 
marry you. ‘Please, Ben, don’t speak of it again.” 
The man laughed, and springing over the counter, 
grabbed the girl roughly to him, and kissed her on the 
lips, cheek, forehead. She struggled fiercely in his tight 
grasp, and suddenly freeing herself, slapped the man full 
in the face, and then ran madly across the store, and came 
face to face with Mr. William Allan. 
“Oh,” she stopped short, a paralyzing fear overpow- 
ering her. What if he were the thief, and Ben arrested 
him? Even if he were a criminal, she didn’t want him to 
be punished. But why was he there? Unseen by the two 
the stranger had come quietly down the rickety stairs and 
had watched the scene from his vantage point from behind 
a pile of boxes. 
A queer smile on his lips and his hands in his coat 
pockets, Mr. Allan advanced slowly toward the big man. 
The sudden appearance of the stranger had so startled the 
constable that he stood like one in a daze. ‘The girl leaned 
against an old pickle barrel, her breath coming in short 
gasps, and her eyes full of fear. 
“Mr. Benjamin Webb, constable of Grantville?” Mr. 
Allan inquired suavely. 
“Who be ye?” grunted the other, coming from behind 
the counter, and rubbing his cheek, where the girl’ s finger- 
prints were plainly to be seen. 
“Who am I? Oh, I am William Allan from New 
York,” the stranger returned quietly. 
“What be ye doin’ here?” snarled the constable. 
“On my way to visit the Pattersons, but not being 
able to—— 
“What be yer business in Marie’s ‘store? She tol’ 
me no one had been here all day,” he glared at the gizl 
in the shadows. 
“We will leave the lady out of the question entirely,” 
Allen said authoratively, “this is a matter between you 
and me.” 
“Oh, is it? Do yer think that that story about visitin’ 
the Pattersons will go wid me? No, sirree. JI know who 
ye be—the thief what robbed Patersons las’ night. Say, 
come on, han’ over the goods,” with a grand show of bray- 
ado. Anxious to show off before the girl that he loved, as 
much as it was possible for one of his stamp to love any- 
one but himself, the big man advanced. 
“Don’t move or I’ll shoot,’ Allan snapped. Marie 
saw a gleam of steel in his hand as he took a pistol from 
his pocket. Slowly the constable’s hands were raised high 
above his head. With a low sob, she sank in a heap on 
the floor, and covered her face with her hands. 
It was all so unreal, just like a page from a novel or 
a scene froma melodrama of old. It seemed hardly prob- 
able such a,thing should or could take place in Grantville. 
The handsome villain, the humble village here, and the 
maiden in distress—in spite of her fear, the absurdity of — 
the situation suddenly struck her, and throwing back her 
head, she laughed hysterically. 
“Don’t be afraid, Miss Holland,’ Allan commanded, 
never shifting his. piercing gaze from the constable’s face, 
“T have him covered.” 
“What do you mean by—— 
putting on a bold front. 
“Shut up,” Allan growled, “all you have to do is to 
hand over those jewels of Mrs. Patterson’s. 
Under his tan, the constable’s face grew a _ chalky 
white. 
“Quick,” ordered Allan, putting out his hand, but the 
pistol point never wavering from a spot directly over 
Webb’s heart. “Quick, this is not exactly a pleasant scene 
for a lady to witness, and | am not in a mood to wait.” 
” Webb spluttered angrily, 
