The day after Justin's escape from the river, he went about with an unusually thoughtful face. There was something on his mind, and, with a variation of his usually methodical habits, he several times left his desk to go to the bank door and look up and down the street.
About the middle of the afternoon Miss Gastonguay came down Main Street with her usual gait, that aimed at being a stride but ended in a trot when she went quickly, on account of the shortness of her limbs. In the middle of the street, carefully keeping abreast of her, was the white pony, neither harnessed nor saddled, and following her about simply for purposes of entertainment.
When she stopped he stopped, when she hurried on he made haste to thread his way among the various vehicles in the street and catch up to her. Upon arriving in front of a green-grocer's, he took on an air of joyful assurance, and approached the curbstone.
"Piggy," said Miss Gastonguay, amiably; then calling for a handful of apples, she spread them in the gutter before him.
While he was eating them, she looked across at the bank. "If they haven't closed, I might go and get some money," she grumbled. "That girl Chelda spends it like water," and she hurriedly approached the brick building.
"So this is what you have been doing with my money," she said to the paying teller as she stood before his wicket and gazed about the freshly decorated bank.
The young man smiled respectfully, then, as he handed her a roll of bills, observed, "The cashier asked me to let him know if you came in. Would it be too much trouble for you to step in his office?"
Without saying a word she walked to the glass door beyond, and rapped briskly on it.
"Come in," said Justin; then seeing who it was he sprang up. "Miss Gastonguay, I have been wishing to see you."
"Indeed,—the road to French Cross is still open."