cleared space on each side
of the tracks was gray and ominous (the sun had disappeared as Betty
mused) but the girl, comfortable in sweater and small, close hat,
paid slight attention to these signs.

"I can't see what is keeping Bob," she repeated, putting the camera
down. "Maybe I'd better go back into the car. How those trees do
swish about! I don't believe if I shouted, I'd be heard above the
noise of the wind and the train."

This was an alluring thought, and Betty acted upon it, cautiously at
first, and then, gaining confidence, more freely. It is exhilarating
to contend with the rush of the wind, to pitch one's voice against a
torrent of sound, and Betty stood at the rail singing as loudly as
she could, her tones lost completely in a grander chorus. Her cheeks
crimsoned, and she fairly shouted, feeling to her finger tips the joy
and excitement of the powerful forces with which she competed--those
of old nature and man's invention, the thing of smoke and fire and
speed we call a train.

Suddenly the brakes went down, there was an uneasy screeching as they
gripped the wheels, and the long train jarred to a standstill.

"How funny!" puzzled Betty. "There's no station. We're right out in
the woods. Oh, I can hear the wind now--how it does howl!"

She picked up her belongings and made her way back to the car. As she
passed through the coaches every one was asking the cause of the
stop, and an immigrant woman caught hold of Betty as she went through
a day coach.

"Is it wrong?" she asked nervously, and in halting English. "Must we
get off here?"

"I don't know what the matter is," answered Betty, thankful that she
was asked nothing more difficult. "But whatever happens, don't get
off; this isn't a station, it is right in the woods. If you get off
and lose some of your children, you'll never get them together again
and the train will go off and leave you. Don't get off until the
conductor tells you to."

The woman sank back in her seat and called her children around her,
evidently resolved to follow this advice to the last letter.

"She looks as if an earthquake wouldn't blow her from her seat,"
thought Betty, proceeding to her own car. "Well, at that, it's safer
for her than trying to find out what the matter is and not being
able to find her way aboard again. I remember the conductor told Bob
and me these poor immigrants have such trouble traveling. It must be
awful to make your way in a strange country w