the day;" a florid old gentleman with gold spectacles, who
revealed a bald head as he removed his hat and used it for a fan,--they
had seen him hurrying to the platform just before the train moved out;
a commercial traveller, and a schoolboy.

"No," said Mary Leonard, "he isn't here this time."

The florid old gentleman took a seat in front of them and continued to
fan himself. The conductor came through the car.

"Warm spell we're having for October, Mr. Hatt," he said, as he punched
the commutation-ticket that was offered him.

Mary Leonard and Lucy Eastman gazed spellbound at the back of Mr. Hatt's
bald head. They were too amazed to look away from it at each other.

"It--it must be his father," gasped Lucy Eastman. "He looks--a
little--like him."

"Then it's his father come back!" returned Mary in an impatient whisper.
"His father died before we ever went to Englefield; and, don't you
remember, he was always fanning himself?"

Their fascinated gaze left the shiny pink surface of Samuel Hatt's head,
and their eyes met.

"I hope he won't see us," giggled Lucy.

"I hope not. Let's look the other way."

In a few minutes Mr. Hatt rose slowly and portentously, and, turning,
made a solemn but wavering way down the car to greet a man who sat just
across the aisle from Mary Leonard. Both the women avoided his eyes,
blushing a little and with the fear of untimely mirth about their lips.

As he talked with their neighbor, however, they ventured to look at him,
and as he turned to go back his slow, deliberate glance fell upon them,
rested a moment, and, without a flicker of recognition, passed on, and
he resumed his place.

There was almost a shadow in the eyes that met again, as the women
turned towards one another.

"I--I know it's funny," said Lucy, a little tremulously, "but I don't
quite like it that we look to him just as he does to us."

"We have hair on our heads," said Mary Leonard. "But," she added, less
aggressively, "we needn't have worried about his speaking to us."

"Englefield," shouted the brakeman, and the train rumbled into a covered
station. Mary Leonard started to her feet, and then paused and looked
down at her companion. This Englefield! This the quiet little place
where the man from the hotel consented to look after their trunks while
their cousins drove them up in the wagon--this noisy station with two or
three hotel stages and shouting drivers of public carriages!

"Lucy," said she, s