A complacent patriot would have looked upon succeeding events as demonstrating conclusively an efficiency in public office which some other patriots are prone to question. Bright and early the next morning there presented himself at the parsonage front door a massive, elderly, decent, badged official, and incontinently agitated rumours filled the air. Luella might be heard declaiming violently; Doctor Gowdy, Mrs. Gowdy uplifted mild, startled argument; everybody united in silencing the children. A caucus was held in the back yard; and then the officer departed. It was most melodramatic and intriguing; there were communicants of Saint Luke’s, not to mention innumerable outsiders, who would have envied Mrs. Shields her proscenium-box location, but she herself took no advantage of it, and it was without alacrity that she answered the doorbell when the officer visited her in turn. He touched his hat. “Good morning! Is this where the lady telephoned for the Humane S’ciety----?” He stopped short abruptly, staring, seeming to labour vainly with some stupendous fact well-nigh beyond his grasp. “Well, well, _well_! Look who’s here!” he managed to get out, after a long minute. Mrs. Shields did not answer; she stood before him, her bearing sullen, hostile, a little frightened. “Look who’s here!” the officer ejaculated again, apostrophizing the ceiling; then he brought his gaze down, and sent it everywhere, alertly exploring. “You living here?” “Yeh. What’s matter my living here? I gotta live _some_where. I ain’t doin’ nothing.” “Naw, I guess you ain’t, Tillie, or everybody’s heard before this,” the other agreed amiably. “But say, was it you called the S’ciety, honest?” “Yeh. What of it?” “Why, nothin’. Nothin’ ’t all,” said the official soothingly; a grin slowly worked its way across his features. “Only, it’s kinda funny when you think about it, ain’t it? Don’t it strike you kinda funny?” “It strikes me you was needed,” said Mrs. Shields, glowering at him. “It strikes me you’n your old S’ciety better get busy.” “Sure, sure! We’re going to. Only the rev’rend next door, and you sickin’ the authorities onta him----” Some obscurely humorous aspect of the situation overcame him; he propped himself against the doorpost, shaken with chuckles. “When you’re through----?” said Mrs. Shields with chilly venom. “Oh, all right! All right, Tillie!” He wiped his eyes, saluted her with burlesque obsequiousness, and went off down the walk; at the street another convulsion overtook him. Miss Martha Wilcox, meanwhile, in contented ignorance of all these happenings, dreamed on, spending the rent, recounting it and spending it over again, Alnaschar-wise; with apologies to herself, she did actually spend some of it, here and there. It fairly burned a hole in her pocket, and there seemed no harm in a few small indulgences; she had gone without so long! But now Mrs. Seabury descended on her, headlong as usual, this time with a face of portentous gloom.