nd order could at once render it supremely fascinating. My
two babes, collaborating with four small Sullivans, had by child magic,
which is the only true magic, transformed this box into a splendid
express train. The train now sped across country at such terrific speed
that the small Sullivan at the throttle, an artist and a realist,
crouched low, with eyes strained upon the track-head, with one hand
tightly holding on his Sunday cap.

Another Sullivan was fireman, fiercely shovelling imaginary coal; still
another at the side of the box grasped the handle of the brake as one
ready to die at his post if need be. The last Sullivan paced the length
of the wagon-box, being thrown from side to side with fine artistry by
the train's jolting. He arrogantly demanded tickets from passengers
supposedly both to relinquish these. And in his wake went the official
most envied by all the others. With a horse's nose-bag upon his arm my
namesake chanted in pleading tones above the din, "Peanuts--freshly
buttered popcorn--Culver's celebrated double-X cough drops, cool and
refreshing!"

But the tragic eminence of the game was occupied by my woman child.
Perched in the middle of the high seat, her short legs impotently
projecting into space, she was the only passenger on this train--and
she, for whose sole behoof the ponderous machinery was operated, in
whose exclusive service this crew of trained hirelings toiled--she sat
aloft indignant, with tear-wet face, her soul revolted by the ignominy
of it.

I knew the truth in a glance. There had been clamors for the positions
of honor, and she, from weakness of sex, had been overborne. She, whose
heart cried out for the distinction of train-boy, conductor, engineer,
brakeman, or fireman, in the order named, had been forced into the only
degrading post in the game--a mere passenger without voice or office in
those delicate feats of administration. And she suffered--suffered with
a pathetic loyalty, for she knew as well as they that some one _had_ to
be the passenger.

I held an accusing eye upon my namesake and the train came to a sudden
halt, much embarrassed, though the brakeman, with artistic relish, made
a vast ado with his brake and pretended that "she" might start off again
any minute.

My namesake poised himself on the foot that had no stone-bruise and
began:--

"Now, Uncle Maje, I _told_ her she could be engineer after we got to the
next station--"

His tones were those of bene