ppeared in the
vestibule of the car to placate him. He had already taken his valises
inside.

Annixter would not permit Hilma's parents to board the car, declaring
that the train might pull out any moment. So he and his wife, following
the porter down the narrow passage by the stateroom, took their places
and, raising the window, leaned out to say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs.
Tree. These latter would not return to Quien Sabe. Old man Tree had
found a business chance awaiting him in the matter of supplying his
relative's hotel with dairy products. But Bonneville was not too far
from San Francisco; the separation was by no means final.

The porters began taking up the steps that stood by the vestibule of
each sleeping-car.

"Well, have a good time, daughter," observed her father; "and come up to
see us whenever you can."

From beyond the enclosure of the depot's reverberating roof came the
measured clang of a bell.

"I guess we're off," cried Annixter. "Good-bye, Mrs. Tree."

"Remember your promise, Hilma," her mother hastened to exclaim, "to
write every Sunday afternoon."

There came a prolonged creaking and groan of straining wood and iron
work, all along the length of the train. They all began to cry their
good-byes at once. The train stirred, moved forward, and gathering slow
headway, rolled slowly out into the sunlight. Hilma leaned out of the
window and as long as she could keep her mother in sight waved her
handkerchief. Then at length she sat back in her seat and looked at her
husband.

"Well," she said.

"Well," echoed Annixter, "happy?" for the tears rose in her eyes.

She nodded energetically, smiling at him bravely.

"You look a little pale," he declared, frowning uneasily; "feel well?"

"Pretty well."

Promptly he was seized with uneasiness. "But not ALL well, hey? Is that
it?"

It was true that Hilma had felt a faint tremour of seasickness on the
ferry-boat coming from the city to the Oakland mole. No doubt a little
nausea yet remained with her. But Annixter refused to accept this
explanation. He was distressed beyond expression.

"Now you're going to be sick," he cried anxiously.

"No, no," she protested, "not a bit."

"But you said you didn't feel very well. Where is it you feel sick?"

"I don't know. I'm not sick. Oh, dear me, why will you bother?"

"Headache?"

"Not the least."

"You feel tired, then. That's it. No wonder, the way rushed you 'round
to-day."

"Dear, I'm NOT tire