At last the traction engine appeared, and Mrs. Marston was hoisted into the trailer--a large truck with scarlet-painted sides, and about half full of stone. This had been shovelled away from the front to make room for Mrs. Marston and Hazel. A flap in the scarlet side was let down, and with the help of one of the traction men Edward and Martha got her safely settled. She really was a very splendid old lady. Her hat, a kind of spoon-shape, was trimmed lavishly with black glass grapes, that clashed together softly when she moved. There was also a veil with white chenille spots. The hat was tied under her chin with black ribbons, and her kind old face, very pink and plump and charming, looked out pleasantly upon, the world. She wore her best mantle, heavily trimmed with jet bugles, and her alpaca skirt was looped up uncompromisingly with an old-fashioned skirt-hook made like a butterfly. Hung on one arm was her umbrella, and she carried her reticule in both hands for safety. So, with all her accoutrements on, she sat, pleasantly aware that she was at once self-respecting and adventurous. They started in a whirl of good-byes, shrieks of delight from Hazel, and advice of Mrs. Marston to the driver to put the brake on and keep it on. Hazel was perched on the side of the truck near her. They rounded a turn with great dignity, the trailer, with Mrs. Marston as its figure-head--wearing an expression of pride, fear, and resignation--swinging along majestically. 'Please, Mrs. Marston, can I buy a green silk gown wi' yellow roses on?' 'Certainly not, my dear. It would be most unsuitable. So very far from quiet.' 'What's quiet matter?' 'Quietness is the secret of good manners. The quieter you are, the more of a lady you'll be thought. All truly good people are quiet in manners, dress, and speech, just as all the best horses are advertised as quiet to ride and drive, but few are really so.' 'Han you got to be ever and ever so quiet to be a lady?' 'Yes.' 'What for have you?' 'Because, dear, it is the proper thing. Now my poor husband was quiet, so quiet that you never knew if he was there or not. And Edward is quiet too,--as quiet as--' 'Oh! dunna, dunna!' wailed Hazel. 'Is a pin sticking into you dear?' 'No. Dunna say Ed'ard's quiet!' Mrs. Marston looked amicably over her spectacles. 'My dear, why not?' she asked. 'I dunna like that sort.' 'Could you explain a little, dear?' 'I dunna like quiet men--nor quiet horses. My mam was quiet when she was dead. Everybody's quiet when they're dead.' 'Very, very quiet,' crooned Mrs. Marston. 'Yes, we all fall asleep in our turn.' 'I like,' went on Hazel in her rather crude voice, harsh with youth like a young blackbird's--'I like things as go quick and men as talk loud and stare hard and drive like the devil!' She broke off, flushing at Mrs. Marston's expression, and at the sudden knowledge that she had been describing Reddin.