The old mother, whose poke-bonnet was pushed far back from her crop of bushy white hair, would not give up the pleasing excitement of making a scene. Her cheeks grew redder and redder while she chaffered with the hackmen. For how much would they take her out of town to see a friend? Who was her friend, they asked, and how far was it? This the old woman would not commit herself to revealing. She was not going to walk in any trap with her eyes open, and, catching sight of the chief, and impressed by his air of authority, she appealed to him. He good-humouredly asked her where she wished to go. To pay the interest on her mortgage, and she shook her bag. "But where, to whom?" "To the rich old lady, the French one." "Miss Gastonguay,--yes, she has mortgages in plenty, but you want to see her lawyer." The old woman said she would see no lawyer. Her business was with Miss Gastonguay. The chief of police was not surprised. Miss Gastonguay's good nature was well known. She had a large number of hangers-on. "I guess you can make a special bargain with her, can't you, boys?" and he appealed to the hackmen. "I'll take you for fifteen cents apiece," spoke out one bolder than the rest. "Ma, ain't there a car line?" interrupted the girl, in a sudden access of economy. "Go 'way," exhorted her mother. "We don't have no fun only once in a dog's age," and she sidled her hoop-skirted, beshawled figure into the hack indicated, and dragged her protesting daughter after her. The chief of police smiled and strolled away. "Blackhead" had not arrived on this train. He would go down to the city hall, write up yesterday's report, and then come back in time for the "noon" from Bangor. Meanwhile the old woman was lying in a corner of the vehicle, her face like death, her hand pressed convulsively on her chest. The hackman chuckled when he drew up his horse before the stone steps. He would have some more fun here. To his disappointment, Miss Gastonguay was in one of her grim humours. Remorselessly suppressing the old woman, who had again grown hilarious, she speedily conducted her into the house. There was nothing revealed to the hackman's backward glance but a big closed door, and with no further news for his comrades he drove slowly back to town. Miss Gastonguay led the way to her own room. With an unfaltering step she walked across it, threw open the door of her dressing-room, and pointed to the pale daughter, no longer shrinking but kicking manfully against her petticoats. "Go in there," she said, "and stay till you are wanted. You will find food and drink." The pale girl went in, tossed her hat and veil in a corner, and, seizing a handful of fruit, threw herself down on the lounge. "When you take off those trappings, I will speak to you," said Miss Gastonguay to her remaining guest, then, turning her back, she stared at her empty hearth.