ll risk everything!" she answered.

Meantime, what of Margie Harrison? Through the dull, stormy day she had
been whirled along like the wind. The train was an express, and made few
stoppages. Margie took little note of anything which occurred. She sat
in her hard seat like one in a trance, and paid no heed to the lapse of
time, until the piteous whining of Leo warned her that night was near,
and the poor dog was hungry. At the first stopping-place she purchased
some bread and meat for him, but nothing for herself. She could not have
swallowed a mouthful.

Still the untiring train dashed onward. Boston was reached at last.
She got out, stood confused and bewildered, gazing around her. It was
night, and the place was strange to her. The cries of the porters and
hackmen--the bustle and dire confusion, struck a chill to her heart. The
crowd hurried hither and thither, each one intent on his own business,
and the lamps gave out a dismal light, dimmed as they were by the hanging
clouds of mist and fog. Alone in a great city! For the first time in her
life she felt the significance of the words she had so often heard. She
had never traveled a half dozen miles before, by herself, and she felt
almost as helpless as a little child.

"Carriage, ma'am?" said a hackman, touching her arm.

"Yes," she said, mechanically, and put her hand in her pocket for her
_porte-monnaie_, with a vague idea that she must pay him before she
started.

She uttered a low cry of dismay! Her pocket-book was missing! She
searched more thoroughly, but it was not to be found. Her pocket had been
picked. She turned a piteous face to the hackman.

"My money is lost, sir!" she said, "but if you will take me to a place of
shelter, I will remunerate you some way."

"Sorry to be obliged to refuse, ma'am," said the man, civilly enough,
"but I'm a poor man, with a family, and can't afford to keep my horses
for nothing."

"What is it, driver?" queried a rough voice; but in a moment a crowd had
gathered around poor, shrinking Margie, and growling, indignant Leo.

"The woman's lost her purse--"

"Oh, ho! the old story--eh? Beauty in distress. Should think they'd git
tired of playing that game!" said the coarse voice, which belonged to a
lounger and hanger-on at the depot.

"Looks rather suspicious, ma'am, for ye to be traveling on the train
alone," began the hackman; but he was interrupted by the lounger.

"That's the way they all travel. Wall, thank the