She was very busy and very happy and very hopeful. "If this keeps up," she told her mother, "I shall rent a little shop and sell them over the counter." Her mother had an invalid's pessimism. "They may tire of them." They were not yet tired. They gave Jane and her basket vociferous greeting, crowding round her and buying eagerly. Atwood and Henry having placed orders hung back, content to wait for a later moment when she might have leisure to talk to them. Tommy helped Jane to hand out sandwiches and make change. He felt like the faithful squire of a great lady. He had read much romantic literature, and he served as well if not as picturesquely as a page in doublet and hose. So O-liver saw them. He had been riding all the afternoon on Mary Pick. He had gone up into the Canon of the Honey Pots. No one knew it by that name but O-liver, but at all the houses one could buy honey. Up and down the road were little stands on which were set forth glasses and jars of amber sweet. The bees flashed like motes in the sunlight, the air was heavy with the fragrance of the flowers which yielded their largess to the marauders. It was dark when he rode down toward the town. It lay before him, all twinkling lights. Above it hung a thin moon and countless stars. It might have been a fairy town under the kindly cover of the night. But when he reached the central square the illusion ceased. It was what men had made it--sordid, cheap. He stopped Mary Pick under a pepper tree and surveyed the scene. Jane and her basket were the center of an excited group. She had almost reached the end of her supplies, and some one had suggested auctioning off the remainder. Jane had protested, but her protests had not availed. She had turned to Tommy for help, to Henry, to Atwood. They had done their best. But the man who led the crowd had an object in his leadership. It was Tillotson of the little hotel--red-faced, whisky-soaked. "Sandwich Jane, Sandwich Jane!" he shouted. "That's the name for her, boys." And they took it up and shouted "Sandwich Jane!" It was at this moment that O-liver stopped under the pepper tree. The bright light fell directly on Jane's distressed face. He saw the swept-back brightness of her hair, her clear-cut profile, her white skin, her white teeth. But he saw more than this. "By Jove," he said, "she's a lady!" If he had been talking to the men he would have said "Gosh!" It was only when he was alone that he permitted himself the indulgence of more formal language. That Jane was harried he could see. And suddenly he rode forward on Mary Pick. The crowd made way for him expectantly. There were always interesting developments when O-liver was on the scene. "Gentlemen," he said, "let the lady speak for herself. I am not sure what you are trying to do, but it is evidently something she doesn't want done."