guard New Haven, loom in view at last;
and Flint feels that he is drawing towards home. If it were not for
the square, flat package, he would get out and stretch his legs by a
walk on the platform. As it is, he picks up the package tenderly, and
transports it to the smoking-car. The air here, although filled with
smoke, seems more bearable. The leather seats, too, are more
tolerable, as his hand falls on them, and, best of all, he can light
his pipe here. With the first puff dawns a serenity with which neither
faith nor philosophy had been able to endue the journey hitherto.

After all, what are two weeks?--a mere trifle; and he can make it up
by a run down to the Virginia Springs in October. This will give a
good quiet time too, for the foreign "Review" critiques. The libraries
are empty at this time of year, and he can study in peace. Of course
there will be a pile of letters waiting for him.

With that reflection, came, irresistibly, the thought of Winifred
Anstice, and their curious, mutually deceptive correspondence. In the
swiftly thronging events of the last twenty-four hours, he had
scarcely had time to let his mind dwell upon that strange clearing up
between them last night. He smiled, unconsciously, as he remembered
the look of utter bewilderment in those great eyes of hers.

"Candy, sir, peanuts, oranges, and gingerbread! Popcorn in papers!
Take some home?" With this the train-boy, quite oblivious that this
was the same person who had met his advances so cavalierly in the
other car, again held out an olive branch, this time a cornucopia
marked "Ridley, best broken candy."

To his own surprise, Flint felt himself fingering in his pocket for a
dime, and heard himself say, "That's all right, I don't want the
stuff. Take it in to that little chap in a striped suit, in the next
car,--dirty little beggar, wriggled like an eel all day. This will
probably make him wriggle all night. Never mind, serves him right."

The boy grinned.

A passenger in the next seat turned round.

"It is pleasant," he said with a smile, "to see such kindness of heart
survive on a day like this."

"Sir," answered Flint, "don't mistake me for a philanthropist. I make
a small, but honest livelihood at a different calling."

The man's smile died out in a little disappointment; and he turned
again to his paper. Imperfect sympathies! Flint took up his paper
also, and read until the sudden shutting off of light warned him that
the tra