The preferred creditor business was bearing fruit and the volubility of her tongue was something wonderful. She was sure of her money—Mr. Blake had said so—and Mr. Grey was a “misfortunate man whom she would not see insulted.” Something in her attitude shamed Herbert, who went at once to Louie’s side and said to her: “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Let me help your father.” “Oh, Herbert,” Louie cried, “I am so glad you have come. I wanted you so badly—wanted somebody to help me bear it. No one has said a kind word but Nancy Sharp.” “I came as soon as I heard of it. I went to your house first,” Herbert said, offering again to help her father. But she did not relinquish her hold. She only put her hand on Herbert’s arm to steady herself, she felt so faint. Not until he was in the carriage did Mr. Grey seem conscious of the crowd. Then he lifted his hat and bowed, while a smile broke over his pallid features and his lips moved as if he would speak. Louie saw it and whispered, “Don’t father. Don’t say anything now. It can do no good.” Then she turned to Herbert, who helped her in and held her hand a moment with a warm pressure which she felt during all the rapid drive home—past stores and shops, and houses, from which curious faces were looking, as if Mr. Grey were some new species of the genus homo which they had never seen before. Louie had half hoped Herbert would go with her, and for a moment he had thought to do so. But his father had just come up, puffing and blowing with heat and impatience, and glad that the thing was over and Grey going quietly home. “This must seem kinder nateral to you, seein’ ’tain’t long sence you was in the same boat,” Nancy Sharp said, as she elbowed her way up to him. The Judge glared at her, but made no reply. He had never forgotten the poor old man whom she pitied, and had raised her rent a dollar a month in consequence of the part she had played in the run. He knew her twenty silver dollars were in Grey’s bank, and did not feel particularly sorry for her. She had lost it, of course, and after he passed her something impelled him to turn and say, “How much are you out?” “Not a red cent,” she answered. “I’m a preferred creditor, I be. Mr. Grey done the square thing by me, same as he did by you, and here in his trouble you stalk away without a word to these folks thet they’d better go home. I’ve been advisin’ ’em, but they won’t hear me.” For a moment the judge hesitated. He did not want them standing around in front of his bank. It reminded him too much of a day he would like to forget, and he finally said, “What are you waiting for? You can’t get your money to-day, if you ever do. You’d better go home. There’s no good standing here, gaping at the bank!”