"I'll tell you what it is," said Mr. Cattermole, beaming benevolently, "it's the jolting. It keeps me from hearing what you say." Jane nodded, smiling. But old Mr. Cattermole wasn't long inconvenienced by the jolting. "Who you going to stop with?" he asked next. "Mrs. Ralston and Miss Drew." "Who?" "Mrs. Ralston and Miss Drew." "Who? I don't hear you." "Miss Drew." "The Crews?--There ain't no such people in town." "Miss Drew!" Jane became slightly crimson. "I'll tell you," said Mr. Cattermole, "we'll wait. I can't hear. Really I can't." The next minute they arrived at Mrs. Cowmull's, since she lived in the first house on the street. Lorenzo Rath, the artist, who had been sitting on the middle seat with Madeleine, now pressed her hand, twisted about and shook Jane's, nodded to old Mr. Cattermole, leaned forward and dragged his suit-case from under the seat, and then wriggled out, over two boxes and under a flapping curtain, and down on to the sidewalk. Mrs. Cowmull was standing on the porch, trying to look hospitable and unconscious at the same time. "Here," said the stage driver, suddenly delivering Lorenzo's trunk on to the top of his head,--"and here's the lampshade and the codfish,--they get down here, too." Lorenzo couldn't help laughing. "Au revoir," he cried, waving the lampshade as the steps began to move. "We'll meet again soon," Madeleine cried, her face full of bright color. "Yes, of course." Then they were off. "Seemed a nice young feller," said old Mr. Cattermole to Jane. "Yes." She tried to speak loudly. "Hey!" "Yes." "I'll tell you," said old Mr. Cattermole benevolently, "you come and see my granddaughter Emily, and then we'll talk. My granddaughter's a great student. You'll like her. She's full of the new ideas and new books and all that. We're very proud of her. Only she don't get married." Then the stage stopped, and Mrs. Mead came running out. "Oh, Father, did you buy the new magazines,--on the train, you know?" Old Mr. Cattermole was descending backwards with the care of a cat in an apple-tree. "It's my daughter," he said to Jane. "I can always hear her because she speaks so plain. Yes, Emma, it _was_ dusty, very dusty." "This lawn-sprinkler is your's, ain't it?" said the stage driver, jerking it off the roof into Mrs. Mead's arms. "Here's his bag, too." And then they went on again. Madeleine now had space to turn about. "You'll come and see me?" she asked Jane earnestly; "it'll be so nice. We're both strangers here." "I'll try," Jane answered, "but I shall be closely tied to the house. Aunt Susan is an invalid, you see. I'll not only have all the work, but if I go out, that poor sick woman will be left helpless and alone up-stairs." "Perhaps I can come and see you, then," said Madeleine. "I'll have the time to come, if you'll have the time to see me."