rying to make the old lady move against her
will. I dare say it would be better to give the young woman a chance to
miss her mother and take a little quiet think."

Tilly saw her mother off on the train to Baxter, the Fergusons' station.
Being a provident, far-sighted, and also inexperienced traveller, she
had allowed a full half-hour for preliminary passages at arms with the
railway officials; and, as the train happened to be an hour late, she
found herself with time to spare, even after she had exhausted the
catalogue of possible deceptions and catastrophes by rail. During the
silence that followed her last warning, she sat mentally keeping tally
on her fingers. "Confidence men"--Tilly began with the thumb--"Never
give anybody her check. Never lend anybody money. Never write her
name to anything. Don't get out till conductor tells her. In case of
accident, telegraph me, and keep in the middle of the car, off the
trucks. Not take care of anybody's baby while she goes off for a minute.
Not take care of babies at all. Or children. Not talk to strangers--good
gracious!"

Tilly felt a movement of impatience; there, after all her cautions,
there was her mother helping an old woman, an utterly strange old woman,
to pile a bird-cage on a bandbox surmounting a bag. The old woman was
clad in a black alpaca frock, made with the voluminous draperies of
years ago, but with the uncreased folds and the brilliant gloss of a
new gown. She wore a bonnet of a singular shape, unknown to fashion, but
made out of good velvet. Beneath the bonnet (which was large) appeared
a little, round, agitated old face, with bobbing white curls and white
teeth set a little apart in the mouth, a defect that brought a kind of
palpitating frankness into the expression.

"Now, who HAS mother picked up now?" thought Tilly. "Well, praise be,
she hasn't a baby, anyhow!"

She could hear the talk between the two; for the old woman being deaf,
Mrs. Louder elevated her voice, and the old woman, herself, spoke in a
high, thin pipe that somehow reminded Tilly of a lost lamb.

"That's just so," said Mrs. Louder, "a body cayn't help worrying over a
sick child, especially if they're away from you."

"Solon and Minnie wouldn't tell me," bleated the other woman, "they knew
I'd worry. Kinder hurt me they should keep things from me; but they
hate to have me upset. They are awful good children. But I suspicioned
something when Alonzo kept writing. Minnie, she wouldn't