his extinguished cigar hard between his teeth. He was striving to
control the wrath that came boiling up into his purple face and blazing
eyes.

"There's the warrant!" The sheriff clapped the paper across his palm.
"Take the stuff, boys!" He waved his hand at the cupboard.

"But the most of it's in the cellar," shrilled the voice of a tattler in
the hallway. "There's where she keeps it!"

"I don't need any advice," growled the sheriff. His men trudged into the
room and made for the cupboard.

Now at last Aunt Charette understood that her stores were threatened.
She did not leave her chair. She fumbled frantically at her big bag that
hung at her waist.

"Non, non!" she cried. "Yo' may not to'ch! I have pay! I have pay for
nex' sax month."

She flapped a paper at the sheriff. He took it perfunctorily. "That's
all right, old woman, but it hasn't got anything to do with my business
here. I'm after your stuff on a warrant." He gave back the paper and
started for the stairs leading to the cellar.

"But I have pay," she vociferated. "You tell them I have pay, M'sieu'
Thornton! You' told me if I have pay twice in ye'r I have de
privilege--de privilege!"

The sheriff turned and grinned over his shoulder into the convulsed face