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."

Within an hour the doctor and Mrs. French drove up to the jail.
There, at the bleak north door, swept by the chill March wind, and
away from the genial light of the shining sun, they found Paulina
and her children, a shivering, timid, shrinking group, looking
pathetically strange and forlorn in their quaint Galician garb.

The pathos of the picture appeared to strike both the doctor and
his friend at the same time.

"Brute!" said the doctor, "it's some beast of an understrapper.
He might have let them in, anyway. I'll see the head turnkey."

"Isn't it terribly sad?" replied Mrs. French.

The doctor rang the bell at the jail door, prepared for battle.

"I want to see Mr. Cowan."