“Of course not,” the judge replied. “That would have included Nancy Sharp and a lot more like her. Maybe that is what ails Sheldon, who is drawing all his money at one lick, five thousand dollars, without giving us notice. Not that it will burst the bank, but it looks queer when he has always been so friendly with me.” There was a call for Mrs. White, and she hurried away, giving no more thought to Godfrey Sheldon and his red-headed daughters. The carriage was at the door by this time, and the judge, with his sister, Miss Percy, and Fred Lansing, were soon driving in the direction of the bank. As they turned into a cross street they passed Louie, resting on her wheel and talking with a young man, also on a wheel, who seemed to have come from the opposite direction, and was evidently telling something which excited them both. As the carriage came up their voices dropped, but Fred Lansing was sure he caught the word “bank,” and remembered afterward the peculiar look both gave to the judge. “That’s an awfully pretty girl,” Fred said to Miss Percy. “A Miss Grey, isn’t it?” and he turned to the judge, who answered, rather coldly: “I didn’t notice particularly. There is a Grey girl in town some people think pretty. She is generally on the street—quite a gadder. She is Tom Grey’s daughter. He is running a little one-horse bank beside mine. But he can’t hold out, with no capital that anybody knows of. I gave him six months when he started, and he’s been at it four years, but he’ll come to the end of his rope. Yes, sir! you’ll see. Hallo! what under the heavens are those women running like that for? Is there a fire?” he added, as on passing a corner he saw several women running rapidly in the direction of Main Street, headed by Nancy Sharp, the washerwoman from White’s Row, a part of whose small savings were deposited in his bank, and who worked for his wife at intervals by way of paying her rent. Two of the women had on sun-bonnets, but Nancy was bareheaded, with her sleeves rolled up and her big apron on, showing she had just come from her washtub. “What has happened?” he continued, as a woman came from another door and ran bareheaded down the street, where she was joined by three more, all evidently greatly excited, and talking loudly as they ran. They had now reached a point from which they could see the white marble walls of his bank in the distance. In front of it quite a crowd was gathered, while it seemed to be the point toward which the women were running. David, the coachman, called the judge’s attention to it, and the latter was standing up to look when Louie Grey darted by on her wheel. “Hallo, girl! what’s your name? Louisa, ain’t it? What’s up? What’s that mob about? Stop, can’t you?” the judge called, with a feeling that Louie was bound for the mob, and could tell him what it meant.