with its sickly yellow gleam
of kerosene lamp behind its dingy windowpane, was apparently the only
inhabited spot in a barren wilderness. At the edge of the platform
civilization seemed to end and beyond was nothing but a black earth
and a black sky, tossing trees and howling wind, and cold--raw, damp,
penetrating cold. Compared with this even the stuffy plush seats and
smelly warmth of the car he had just left appeared temptingly homelike
and luxurious. All the way down from the city he had sneered inwardly at
a one-horse railroad which ran no Pullmans on its Cape branch in winter
time. Now he forgot his longing for mahogany veneer and individual
chairs and would gladly have boarded a freight car, provided there were
in it a lamp and a stove.

The light in the station was extinguished and the agent came out with
a jingling bunch of keys and locked the door. "Good-night, Jim,"
he shouted, and walked off into the blackness. Jim responded with a
"good-night" of his own and climbed aboard the wagon, into the dark
interior of which the doctor had preceded him. The boy at the other end
of the platform began to be really alarmed. It looked as if all living
things were abandoning him and he was to be left marooned, to starve or
freeze, provided he was not blown away first.

He picked up the suitcase--an expensive suitcase it was, elaborately
strapped and buckled, with a telescope back and gold fittings--and
hastened toward the wagon. Mr. Young had just picked up the reins.

"Oh,--oh, I say!" faltered the boy. We have called him "the boy" all
this time, but he did not consider himself a boy, he esteemed himself
a man, if not full-grown physically, certainly so mentally. A man,
with all a man's wisdom, and more besides--the great, the all-embracing
wisdom of his age, or youth.

"Here, I say! Just a minute!" he repeated. Jim Young put his head around
the edge of the wagon curtain. "Eh?" he queried. "Eh? Who's talkin'? Oh,
was it you, young feller? Did you want me?"

The young fellow replied that he did. "This is South Harniss, isn't it?"
he asked.

Mr. Young chuckled. "Darn sure thing," he drawled. "I give in that it
looks consider'ble like Boston, or Providence, R. I., or some of them
capitols, but it ain't, it's South Harniss, Cape Cod."

Doctor Holliday, on the back seat of the depot wagon, chuckled. Jim
did not; he never laughed at his own jokes. And his questioner did not
chuckle, either.

"Does a--does a Mr. Snow