b'lieve the folks in this town are all plumb
crazy! Sech doin's! The idea of throwin' slops out onto the road! Why,
the Kanucks wouldn't do that in New Hampshire!"

Slipping her bag onto her left wrist, she loosened the band of her
umbrella and shook the ribs free.

"Lucky I brought my umbrella!" she exclaimed. "I guess it'll be safer
fer me to h'ist this, ef things is goin' to come out o' windows!"

All unknown to her, two or three of the rabble behind her were in the
act of poising themselves with great stones in their hands, and their
muscles were stiffening for a cast when, just in the nick of time, the
obstinate snap yielded, and with a jerk the umbrella spread itself.

Turning the wide-spread gloria skyward, Rebecca hurried forward once
more, still bent upon overtaking Copernicus Droop.

That simple act saved her.

A mere inactive witch was one thing--a thing scarce distinguishable from
any other old woman. But this transformation of a black wand into a
wide-spreading tent was so obviously the result of magic, that it was
self-evident they had to do with a witch in full defensive and offensive
state.

Stones fell from deadened hands and the threatening growls and cries
were lost in a unanimous gasp of alarm. A moment's pause and
then--utter rout. There was a mad stampede and in a trice the street was
empty. Rebecca was alone under that inoffensive guardian umbrella.

To her grief, she found no one on the river's brim. He whom she sought
was half-way across, his conveyance the only wherry in sight,
apparently. Having passed beyond the houses, Rebecca now folded her
umbrella and looked carefully about her. To her great relief, she caught
sight of a man's figure recumbent on a stone bench near at hand. A pair
of oars lay by him and betrayed his vocation.

She stepped promptly to his side and prodded him with her umbrella.

"Here, mister!" she cried. "Wake up, please. What do you charge for
ferryin' folks across the river?"

The waterman sat up, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Then, without looking
at his fare, he led the way to his boat without reply. He was chary of
words, and after all, did not all the world know what to pay for
conveyance to Southwark?

Rebecca gazed after him for a moment and then, shaking her head
pityingly, she murmured:

"Tut--tut! Deef an' dumb, poor man! Dear, dear!"

To hesitate was to lose all hope of overtaking the obstinate Copernicus.
So, first pointing vigorously after the