“Well,” said the doctor, as he drove rapidly away, “we’re well out of that.  I was just figuring what sort of hold would be most fatal to the old lady when you interposed.”

“Poor thing!” said Mrs. French.  “They’re very fond of their children, these Galicians, and they’re so suspicious of us.  They don’t know any better.”

As they passed Paulina’s house, the little girl Irma ran out from the door.

“My mother want you very bad,” she said to Mrs. French.

“Tell her I’ll come in this afternoon,” said Mrs. French.

“She want you now,” replied Irma, with such a look of anxiety upon her face that Mrs. French was constrained to say, “Wait one moment, Doctor.  I’ll see what it is.  I shall not keep you.”

She ran into the house, followed by the little girl.  The room was full of men who stood about in stolid but not unsympathetic silence, gazing upon Paulina, who appeared to be prostrated with grief.  Beside her stood the lad Kalman, the picture of desolation.

“What is it?” cried Mrs. French, running to her.  “Tell me what is the matter.”

Irma told the story.  Early that morning they had gone to the jail, but after waiting for hours they were refused admission by the guard.

“A very cross man send us away,” said the girl.  “He say he put us in jail too.  We can see our fadder no more.”

Her words were followed by a new outburst of grief on the part of Paulina and the two children.

“But the Judge said you were to see him,” said Mrs. French in surprise.  “Wait for me,” she added.

She ran out and told the doctor in indignant words what had taken place, a red spot glowing in each white cheek.

“Isn’t it a shame?” she cried when she had finished her story.

“Oh, it’s something about prison rules and regulations, I guess,” said the doctor.

“Prison rules!” exclaimed Mrs. French with wrath rare in her.  “I’ll go straight to the Judge myself.”

“Get in,” said the doctor, taking up the lines.

“Where are you going?  We can’t leave these poor things in this way,” the tears gathering in her eyes and her voice beginning to break.

“Not much,” said the doctor briskly; “we are evidently in for another scrap.  I don’t know where you will land me finally, but I’m game to follow your lead.  We’ll go to the jail.”

Mrs. French considered a moment.  “Let us first take these children to the hospital and then we shall meet Paulina at the jail.”

“All right,” said the doctor, “tell them so.  I am at your service.”

“You are awfully good, Doctor,” said the little lady, her sweet smile once more finding its way to her pale face.

“Ain’t I, though?” said the doctor.  “If the spring were a little further advanced you’d see my wings sprouting.  I enjoy this.  I haven’t had such fun since my last football match.  I see the finish of that jail guard.  Come on.”