“Town and County Bank!  I am not sure, sir, but I believe we have received a warning against notes issued by this bank only this morning.  I will just step and ask Mr Johnson, sir; but I’m afraid I must trouble you for payment in cash, or in a note of a different bank.”

I never saw a man’s countenance fall so suddenly into dismay and bewilderment.  It was almost piteous to see the rapid change.

“Dang it!” said he, striking his fist down on the table, as if to try which was the harder, “the chap talks as if notes and gold were to be had for the picking up.”

Miss Matty had forgotten her silk gown in her interest for the man.  I don’t think she had caught the name of the bank, and in my nervous cowardice I was anxious that she should not; and so I began admiring the yellow-spotted lilac gown that I had been utterly condemning only a minute before.  But it was of no use.

“What bank was it?  I mean, what bank did your note belong to?”

“Town and County Bank.”

“Let me see it,” said she quietly to the shopman, gently taking it out of his hand, as he brought it back to return it to the farmer.

Mr Johnson was very sorry, but, from information he had received, the notes issued by that bank were little better than waste paper.

“I don’t understand it,” said Miss Matty to me in a low voice.  “That is our bank, is it not?—­the Town and County Bank?”

“Yes,” said I.  “This lilac silk will just match the ribbons in your new cap, I believe,” I continued, holding up the folds so as to catch the light, and wishing that the man would make haste and be gone, and yet having a new wonder, that had only just sprung up, how far it was wise or right in me to allow Miss Matty to make this expensive purchase, if the affairs of the bank were really so bad as the refusal of the note implied.

But Miss Matty put on the soft dignified manner, peculiar to her, rarely used, and yet which became her so well, and laying her hand gently on mine, she said —

“Never mind the silks for a few minutes, dear.  I don’t understand you, sir,” turning now to the shopman, who had been attending to the farmer.  “Is this a forged note?”

“Oh, no, ma’am.  It is a true note of its kind; but you see, ma’am, it is a joint-stock bank, and there are reports out that it is likely to break.  Mr Johnson is only doing his duty, ma’am, as I am sure Mr Dobson knows.”

But Mr Dobson could not respond to the appealing bow by any answering smile.  He was turning the note absently over in his fingers, looking gloomily enough at the parcel containing the lately-chosen shawl.

“It’s hard upon a poor man,” said he, “as earns every farthing with the sweat of his brow.  However, there’s no help for it.  You must take back your shawl, my man; Lizzle must go on with her cloak for a while.  And yon figs for the little ones—­I promised them to ’em--I’ll take them; but the ’bacco, and the other things” —