re, and take you out there safely."

"You're so kind," said Carrie, feeling the goodness of such attention in
her strange situation.

"Chicago!" called the brakeman, drawing the word out long. They were
under a great shadowy train shed, where the lamps were already beginning
to shine out, with passenger cars all about and the train moving at a
snail's pace. The people in the car were all up and crowding about the
door.

"Well, here we are," said Drouet, leading the way to the door.
"Good-bye, till I see you Monday."

"Good-bye," she answered, taking his proffered hand.

"Remember, I'll be looking till you find your sister."

She smiled into his eyes.

They filed out, and he affected to take no notice of her. A lean-faced,
rather commonplace woman recognised Carrie on the platform and hurried
forward.

"Why, Sister Carrie!" she began, and there was embrace of welcome.

Carrie realised the change of affectional atmosphere at once. Amid all
the maze, uproar, and novelty she felt cold reality taking her by the
hand. No world of light and merriment. No round of amusement. Her sister
carried with her most of the grimness of shift and toil.

"Why, how are all the folks at home?" she began; "how is father, and
mother?"

Carrie answered, but was looking away. Down the aisle, toward the gate
leading into the waiting-room and the street, stood Drouet. He was
looking back. When he saw that she saw him and was safe with her sister
he turned to go, sending back the shadow of a smile. Only Carrie saw it.
She felt something lost to her when he moved away. When he disappeared
she felt his absence thoroughly. With her sister she was much alone, a
lone figure in a tossing, thoughtless sea.

Chapter II. WHAT POVERTY THREATENED--OF GRANITE AND BRASS

Minnie's flat, as the one-floor resident apartments were then being
called, was in a part of West Van Buren Street inhabited by families of
labourers and clerks, men who had come, and were still coming, with the
rush of population pouring in at the rate of 50,000 a year. It was on
the third floor, the front windows looking down into the street, where,
at night, the lights of grocery stores were shining and children were
playing. To Carrie, the sound of the little bells upon the horse-cars,
as they tinkled in and out of hearing, was as pleasing as it was novel.
She gazed into the lighted street when Minnie brought her into the front
room, and wondered at the sounds, the mov