The Friend said, “I discovered that I had lost my purse just after meeting you; it may have been dropped in Toe River, but I was told back here that if David Thomas had picked it up, it was as safe as if it were in the bank.”

“What sort of a pocket-book was it?” asked Mr. Thomas.

“It was of crocodile skin, or what is sold for that, very likely it is an imitation, and about so large indicating the size.”

“What had it in it?”

“Various things.  Some specimens of mica; some bank checks, some money.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, a photograph.  And, oh, something that I presume is not in another pocket-book in North Carolina,—­in an envelope, a lock of the hair of George Washington, the Father of his Country.”  Sensation mixed with incredulity.  Washington’s hair did seem such an odd part of an outfit for a journey of this kind.

“How much money was in it?”

“That I cannot say, exactly.  I happen to remember four twenty-dollar United States notes, and a roll of small bills, perhaps something over a hundred dollars.”

“Is that the pocket-book?” asked David Thomas, slowly pulling the loved and lost out of his trousers pocket.

“It is.”

“You’d be willing to take your oath on it?”

“I should be delighted to.”

“Well, I guess there ain’t so much money in it.  You can count it [handing it over]; there hain’t been nothing taken out.  I can’t read, but my friend here counted it over, and he says there ain’t as much as that.”

Intense interest in the result of the counting.  One hundred and ten dollars!  The Friend selected one of the best engraved of the notes, and appealed to the crowd if they thought that was the square thing to do.  They did so think, and David Thomas said it was abundant.  And then said the Friend: 

“I’m exceedingly grateful to you besides.  Washington’s hair is getting scarce, and I did not want to lose these few hairs, gray as they are.  You’ve done the honest thing, Mr. Thomas, as was expected of you.  You might have kept the whole.  But I reckon if there had been five hundred dollars in the book and you had kept it, it wouldn’t have done you half as much good as giving it up has done; and your reputation as an honest man is worth a good deal more than this pocket-book. [The Professor was delighted with this sentiment, because it reminded him of a Sunday-school.] I shall go away with a high opinion of the honesty of Mitchell County.”

“Oh, he lives in Yancey,” cried two or three voices.  At which there was a great laugh.

“Well, I wondered where he came from.”  And the Mitchell County people laughed again at their own expense, and the levee broke up.  It was exceedingly gratifying, as we spread the news of the recovered property that afternoon at every house on our way to the Toe, to see what pleasure it gave.  Every man appeared to feel that the honor of the region had been on trial—­and had stood the test.