other way, on the river road. It's shorter, an' some
cheaper. There isn't much travellin' done by our folks, anyhow. We're a
mighty dead an' alive set up here. Goin' to stay a spell?" he continued,
with increasing interest, as he looked longer into Mercy's face.

"Probably," said Mercy, in a grave tone, suddenly recollecting that she
ought not to talk with this man as if he were one of her own village
people. The conductor, sensitive as are most New England people, spite of
their apparent familiarity of address, to the least rebuff, felt the
change in Mercy's tone, and walked away, thinking half surlily, "She
needn't put on airs. A schoolma'am, I reckon. Wonder if it can be her
that's going to teach the Academy?"

When they reached the station, it was, as the conductor had said, very
dark; and it was raining hard. For the first time, a sense of her
unprotected loneliness fell upon Mercy's heart. Her mother, but
half-awake, clung nervously to her, asking purposeless and incoherent
questions. The conductor, still surly from his fancied rebuff at Mercy's
hands, walked away, and took no notice of them. The station-master was
nowhere to be seen. The two women stood huddling together under one
umbrella, gazing blankly about them.

"Is this Mrs. Philbrick?" came in clear, firm tones, out of the darkness
behind them; and, in a second more, Mercy had turned and looked up into
Stephen White's face.

"Oh, how good you were to come and meet us!" exclaimed Mercy. "You are Mr.
Allen's friend, I suppose."

"Yes," said Stephen, curtly. "But I did not come to meet you. You must not
thank me. I had business here. However, I made the one carriage which the
town boasts, wait, in case you should be here. Here it is!" And, before
Mercy had time to analyze or even to realize the vague sense of
disappointment she felt at his words, she found herself and her mother
placed in the carriage, and the door shut.

"Your trunks cannot go up until morning," he said, speaking through the
carriage window; "but, if you will give me your checks, I will see that
they are sent."

"We have only one small valise," said Mercy: "that was under our seat. The
brakeman said he would take it out for us; but he forgot it, and so did
I."

The train was already backing out of the station. Stephen smothered some
very unchivalrous words on his lips, as he ran out into the rain, overtook
the train, and swung himself on the last car, in search of the "one small