their quiet politeness that
the passengers soon gave him up. At Springfield he sent a telegram to
his brother at the great dry-goods establishment that employed him.

The train began its homestretch after Worcester, and whirled and swung
by hills and ponds he began to watch for, and through stations with old
wayside names. These flashed on Lin's eye as he sat with his hat off
and his forehead against the window, looking: Wellesley. Then, not long
after, Riverside. That was the Charles River, and did the picnic woods
used to be above the bridge or below? West Newton; Newtonville; Newton.
"Faneuil's next," he said aloud in the car, as the long-forgotten
home-knowledge shone forth in his recollection. The traveller seated
near said, "Beg pardon?" but, turning, wondered at the all-unconscious
Lin, with his forehead pressed against the glass. The blue water flashed
into sight, and soon after they were running in the darkness between
high walls; but the cow-puncher never moved, though nothing could be
seen. When the porter announced "Boston," he started up and followed
like a sheep in the general exodus. Down on the platform he moved along
with the slow crowd till some one touched him, and, wheeling round, he
seized both his brother's hands and swore a good oath of joy.

There they stood--the long, brown fellow with the silk handkerchief
knotted over his flannel shirt, greeting tremendously the spruce
civilian, who had a rope-colored mustache and bore a fainthearted
resemblance to him. The story was plain on its face to the passers-by;
and one of the ladies who had come in the car with Lin turned twice, and
smiled gently to herself.

But Frank McLean's heart did not warm. He felt that what he had been
afraid of was true; and he saw he was being made conspicuous. He saw men
and women stare in the station, and he saw them staring as he and his
Western brother went through the streets. Lin strode along, sniffing the
air of Boston, looking at all things, and making it a stretch for his
sleek companion to keep step with him. Frank thought of the refined
friends he should have to introduce his brother to; for he had
risen with his salary, and now belonged to a small club where the
paying-tellers of banks played cards every night, and the head clerk at
the Parker House was president. Perhaps he should not have to reveal
the cow-puncher to these shining ones. Perhaps the cow-puncher would
not stay very long. Of course he was glad