Those pathetic waifs of Hue and Cry were huddled apart, dumb with terror which their elders made no attempt to calm. They were ragged, pitiful, wistful urchins; lads with pinched faces, poor little snippets of girls. Their childish imaginations made of the affair a tragedy which they could not understand. Under their arms they held frightened cats, helpless kittens, or rag dolls. The callous calm of the men mystified them; the weeping of their mothers made their miserable fear more acute. They stared from face to face, trying to comprehend. “What can I say to them?” asked Polly Candage, in a whisper. “It's wicked. They are so frightened.” “Perhaps something can be done with that agent. I'm trying to think up something to say to him,” Mayo told her. An old man, a very old man, sat on an upturned clamhod and yawled a discordant miserere on a fiddle. His eyes were wide open and sightless. A woman whose tattered skirt only partly concealed the man's trousers and rubber boots which she wore, occasionally addressed him as “father.” She was piling about him a few articles of furniture which she was lugging out of their home; that house was the upper part of a schooner's cabin--something the sea had cast up on Hue and Cry. She was obliged to bend nearly double in order to walk about in the shelter. Dogs slinked between the feet of their masters, canine instinct informing them that something evil was abroad that day. The children staring wide-eyed and white-faced, the weeping women, the cowed men who shuffled and mumbled! Among them strode the god of the machine, curt, contemptuous, puffing his cigar! He came past Captain Mayo and his friends. “I beg your pardon, sir,” called the captain; “but are you sure that you are doing this thing just right?” “Let's see--if I remember, I had a little talk with you last night!” suggested the agent, frostily. “Whom do you represent?” “Myself.” “Just how do you fit into this matter?” “I don't think I do fit--there seem to be too many sharp corners,” stated Mayo, not liking the other's insolent manner. “Well, I fit! I have state authority.” “So you have told me. May I ask you a question?” “Go ahead, but be lively. This is my busy day.” “These people are being rooted up; they don't seem to know what's to become of them. What will be done?” “I told you last evening! Fools in an institution; able-bodied must go to work. The state proposes--” “When you say 'state' just what do you mean, sir?” “I mean that I have investigated this matter and I'm running it.” “That's what I thought! The state usually doesn't know much about what its agents are doing.” “You are not doubting my authority, are you?” “No, but I'm doubting your good judgment.” “Look here, my man!” “We'd better not lose our tempers,” advised Mayo, calmly. “You are a state servant, you say. Then a citizen has a right to talk to you. Let's leave the state out of this, if you question my right. Man to man, now! You're wrong.”