It was the officer’s first chance to display the depths of his nature to the girl against whom the venom of unsuccess in his heart had secretly been directed all her life. He deliberately tightened his grip until he felt her wince; he started walking so rapidly that every one was forced to notice that Mahala was in his custody, as he intended that they should. So the main street of the town stood gaping at the sight of Mahala being forcibly propelled in the direction of the station house by the village policeman. In passing Peter Potter’s grocery they met Jason arranging a display of baskets outside the window. In despair Mahala caught his arm. In a low voice she cried to him: “Jason! Jason! Junior has managed to make trouble for me! Run quick to Albert Rich’s office and ask him to hurry to the police station!” A few minutes after her arrival, Martin Moreland entered. He was shaking with anger, white with emotion. Unhesitatingly he swore out a warrant charging Mahala with the theft of three thousand dollars, and also a search warrant for her home. He asked that she be required to furnish bail to cover the amount she was accused of having taken. Mahala was terrified; she was nauseated; but she tried to keep her head erect, tried to think. She replied: “You very well know that I cannot.” A few minutes later she was behind the bars of a cell allotted to the vagrants and the common drunks of the town. She stood erect in the middle of it, holding her skirts that they might not be contaminated. Then Albert Rich and Jason entered the building. The lawyer immediately began to arrange details for her release. With his first understanding of the situation, Jason said: “I will furnish the money for her bail, but if it has to be cash, I’ll have to drive to Bluffport. I must draw it from the bank.” He begged that Mahala be allowed to go home, even if the policeman must accompany her, till he could secure the money. This was refused, and Mahala was forced to remain in the cell until Jason could make the drive to Bluffport and return with the amount needed taken from his years of savings. During all that time Mahala stood waiting. She never spoke save to ask repeatedly for water; thirst seemed to be consuming her. It was three hours later that the cell door was unlocked. Mahala stepped out, and between her lawyer and Jason, entered a carriage and was driven home. There she found the Senior Moreland and the police officer searching the house in detail; her mother again lying unconscious, having been brutally told of the trouble. Moreland’s complaint was formally lodged against Mahala and her trial was set, at her own request, almost immediately. In a daze she worked over her mother.