red for her. The story of her
life had been told to Miss Witherspoon's friends, Miss Witherspoon had
planned her future, and she would be an ever pervasive factor in her
life in the months to come. Hertha suspected that to be with her would
be like going to school again. But the cage door was open and she might,
if she had the courage, make a genuine flight, alone. Yes, alone. If she
could not be with those she loved, she did not wish at once to link her
life to some one whom she was growing to dislike, some one who intended
to fashion the order of her ways. Why not slip away from this new
chaperon who, after all, was only a chance acquaintance? So she reasoned
as she lay awake at night, and as she looked out of her window during
the day while the train swung steadily northward and prosperous cities,
belching factories, well tilled fields, great barns, and spacious
farmhouses whizzed past, her courage and her desire for adventure grew.
She had money, she was white, she would learn what it meant to be free.

"We shall soon be in New York," Miss Witherspoon said on the second day.
"We arrive, you know, at the Pennsylvania station and we take a taxi
there for the Grand Central. I am sorry that I can't stop to show you
New York, but I delayed my departure from Merryvale longer than I
expected, that I might bring you with me, and it is imperative that I go
at once to Boston."

"I certainly do not want to put you to any inconvenience."

Hertha's tone was polite, but at heart she felt angry. She wanted to see
New York and her companion had killed all desire she might have had to
see Boston. She was hot with excitement when later they drew into the
station.

"What did you give your bags to another boy for?" Miss Witherspoon
questioned.

They were in a crowd of people, hurrying off the trains. Miss
Witherspoon had seized upon a porter to whom she had given her luggage,
and, on turning around, had found that her companion had extravagantly
engaged another.

The young girl murmured an unintelligible reply and her chaperon, intent
upon getting a taxi, hurried on ahead.

"Let's not walk so fast," Hertha said to her boy, who answered, smiling,
"Reckon you're from the South."

"Reckon I am," was the reply.

"Your friend's getting away from us!" he announced after they had moved
slowly down the platform.

"I want her to."

Meanwhile Miss Witherspoon, reaching a taxi, had her luggage settled in
it and then looked back for