broke faith
with himself about her; he never hinted to her of his hopes for the
future, never suggested that she might be more intimately confidential
with him, or talked to her of the thing he thought about so constantly.
He had the chivalry which is perhaps the proudest possession of his
race. He had never embarrassed her by so much as a glance. Sometimes,
when they drove out to the sand hills, he let his left arm lie along the
back of the buggy seat, but it never came any nearer to Thea than that,
never touched her. He often turned to her a face full of pride, and
frank admiration, but his glance was never so intimate or so penetrating
as Dr. Archie's. His blue eyes were clear and shallow, friendly,
uninquiring. He rested Thea because he was so different; because, though
he often told her interesting things, he never set lively fancies going
in her head; because he never misunderstood her, and because he never,
by any chance, for a single instant, understood her! Yes, with Ray she
was safe; by him she would never be discovered!

XVI

The pleasantest experience Thea had that summer was a trip that she and
her mother made to Denver in Ray Kennedy's caboose. Mrs. Kronborg had
been looking forward to this excursion for a long while, but as Ray
never knew at what hour his freight would leave Moonstone, it was
difficult to arrange. The call-boy was as likely to summon him to start
on his run at twelve o'clock midnight as at twelve o'clock noon. The
first week in June started out with all the scheduled trains running on
time, and a light freight business. Tuesday evening Ray, after
consulting with the dispatcher, stopped at the Kronborgs' front gate to
tell Mrs. Kronborg--who was helping Tillie water the flowers--that if
she and Thea could be at the depot at eight o'clock the next morning, he
thought he could promise them a pleasant ride and get them into Denver
before nine o'clock in the evening. Mrs. Kronborg told him cheerfully,
across the fence, that she would "take him up on it," and Ray hurried
back to the yards to scrub out his car.

The one complaint Ray's brakemen had to make of him was that he was too
fussy about his caboose. His former brakeman had asked to be transferred
because, he said, "Kennedy was as fussy about his car as an old maid
about her bird-cage." Joe Giddy, who was braking with Ray now, called
him "the bride," because he kept the caboose and bunks so clean.

It was properly the brakeman'