u mustn't feel this way. It's coming out all
right." He took her in his arms and kissed her, and they strolled down
the hall. He was astonished to see how well she looked in even these
simple clothes--the best she had ever had.

They reached the depot after a short carriage ride. The
accommodations had been arranged for before hand, and Kane had allowed
just enough time to make the train. When they settled themselves in a
Pullman state-room it was with a keen sense of satisfaction on his
part. Life looked rosy. Jennie was beside him. He had succeeded in
what he had started out to do. So might it always be.

As the train rolled out of the depot and the long reaches of the
fields succeeded Jennie studied them wistfully. There were the
forests, leafless and bare; the wide, brown fields, wet with the rains
of winter; the low farm-houses sitting amid flat stretches of prairie,
their low roofs making them look as if they were hugging the ground.
The train roared past little hamlets, with cottages of white and
yellow and drab, their roofs blackened by frost and rain. Jennie noted
one in particular which seemed to recall the old neighborhood where
they used to live at Columbus; she put her handkerchief to her eyes
and began silently to cry.

"I hope you're not crying, are you, Jennie?" said

Lester, looking up suddenly from the letter he had been reading.
"Come, come," he went on as he saw a faint tremor shaking her. "This
won't do. You have to do better than this. You'll never get along if
you act that way."

She made no reply, and the depth of her silent grief filled him
with strange sympathies.

"Don't cry," he continued soothingly; "everything will be all
right. I told you that. You needn't worry about anything."

Jennie made a great effort to recover herself, and began to dry her
eyes.

"You don't want to give way like that," he continued. "It doesn't
do you any good. I know how you feel about leaving home, but tears
won't help it any. It isn't as if you were going away for good, you
know. Besides, you'll be going back shortly. You care for me, don't
you, sweet? I'm something?"

"Yes," she said, and managed to smile back at him.

Lester returned to his correspondence and Jennie fell to thinking
of Vesta. It troubled her to realize that she was keeping this secret
from one who was already very dear to her. She knew that she ought to
tell Lester about the child, but she shrank from the painful
necessity. Perhap