“What do you think?” he said to his wife, “I gave up the carriage, thinking the widder might go in it, and was padding along in the dirt and dust—and such a dust and heat for October—when who should come riding by in my carriage—on my cushions—but old Nancy Sharp and three more fishwomen like her. I tell you I won’t stand it. Who knows what catching thing they had in their clothes? I’ll have it fumigated with a sulphur candle, by the Lord Harry, I will! Nancy Sharp riding in my carriage! mine! to Tom Grey’s funeral! and such a funeral! Why, you’d s’pose ’twas the Governor they was burying. Yes, sir! the Governor! Everybody was there but you. House full—yard full—ten carriages full, besides the hearse and clergyman and bearers—and honorary bearers—and more’n a hundred dollars worth of flowers, I’ll bet. Why, _they_ couldn’t do any more for _me_, than they’ve done for Tom Grey; and Nancy Sharp in my carriage! _Mine!_ and bobbing at me as she passed! I won’t stand it! No, sir!” Just what he did to his carriage is not known. Probably nothing, as his mind was diverted into another channel by a letter David brought him when he came from the burial, after having deposited each of the fishwomen at her door in White’s Row. The letter was from Herbert, asking his father to interest himself a little in Mrs. Grey and Louie, now that they were left alone. “I don’t know what they have to live on as I hear they are paying debts with the money received for the house, and I don’t suppose they would take anything from me,” he wrote; “but you and mother can help them, and you owe them something for what Louie did for us.” “Great guns! Why is he everlastingly harping on that?” the judge exclaimed. “And he is fool enough to s’pose that a girl who threw him over would accept help from me? No, sir! Proud as Lucifer, but it won’t do to let ’em starve. I’ll sound Blake, and find how the land lays, and maybe I’ll start a subscription. I’ll head it with ten dollars.” The judge felt himself a very generous man after this decision, but his ten dollars were never needed. Other forces were at work for Mrs. Grey and Louie, and within three weeks after Mr. Grey’s death there came a letter from Miss Percy, urging Louie to come abroad at once with her mother, who would be greatly benefited by the sea voyage. “I have pleasant apartments,” she wrote, “where you will be welcome as my guests; and, when you are rested, we will see about that voice. Don’t hesitate for any scruples whatever, but come. I want you, and when I want a thing, I want it, and generally get it. Come.”