"Are ye the daughters of she who bruk her neck?" asked Driscoll.
"We are—we are lone orphans on the mother's side," said Daisy; "but we couldn't have a better father."
"Ye are right there; a holier man never walked the road. What is it ye said he was wanting?"
"Rat poison. Please give it to us quickly. It isn't for us; it is for the Rector."
"Did he send in a prescription?"
"No; whatever is that?"
"I can't sell pisons without a prescription," said Driscoll. "I'd get into a fine mess. If the Rector is troubled with rats—though I thought I'd banished every one of them some months ago when 'herself' was alive—he'd best write to me and I'll send it to him. No, ladies, I'm sorry to be disobliging, but without a prescription no pison will ye get."
"Oh, dear, dear," said Henrietta; "father will be so disappointed. Perhaps there are some other chemists in the town who won't be so particular, Mr.—Mr. Driscoll."
"Another chemist!" Driscoll threw up his hands. "Could Kingsala support two, I'd like to ask ye? No; I'm the wan and the sole wan. I sold some rat-poison to 'herself' a time back; but I suppose when the rats were gone she was wise enough to destroy it. There now, I must say good-day to ye, ladies, for I must shut up shop."