boy called
"Gerald," after his father, and she had even embroidered the initial
"G." on his blanket to see how it would look. Thus far, however, the
baby was only called "baby," and had no right to any other name.

As the child slept quietly in spite of the jar and jolt and rumble of
the train, the fair young head of the mother who watched so fondly and
patiently over him gradually drooped lower and lower. The brown eyes, so
like the baby's, closed for longer and longer intervals, until at length
she, too, was fast asleep, and dreaming of the joy that awaited her
journey's end.

Chapter II.

A RUDE BAPTISM.

There were others on that train equally weary with the young mother, and
even more anxious; for they knew better than she the ever-present
dangers of that water-soaked road-bed, and they bore the weight of a
fearful responsibility.

The conductor, looking grave and careworn, started nervously at every
lurch of more than ordinary violence, and kept moving uneasily from end
to end of his train. He never passed the young mother and her sleeping
babe without casting sympathetic glances at them. He had done everything
possible for their comfort, but it was little enough that he could do,
and for their sake, more than anything else, he wished the trip were
ended.

All through the long, dark hours, the brake-men stood on the platforms
of the swaying cars, ready at a moment's warning to spring to the iron
brake-wheels. This crew of train hands had only come on duty at
nightfall, and had little knowledge of the through passengers.

In the locomotive cab, gazing ahead with strained eyes, were the
engine-driver, Luke Matherson, and his fireman. Every now and then the
latter found a change of occupation in flinging open the furnace door
and tossing chunk after chunk of wood into the glowing interior. As he
closed the door he would stand for a moment and look inquiringly at his
companion, who sat motionless, with his hand on the throttle, and his
eyes fixed steadily on the lines of track gleaming in the light of the
powerful headlight. Occasionally, without turning his head, he exchanged
a few words with the fireman.

"It's a nasty night, Luke," remarked the latter.

"Yes. It wouldn't take many more such to make me give up railroading."

"What do you think of the Beasely cut?"

"I'm afraid of it, and wish we were well through it."

"Well, we'll know all about it in five minutes more, and after that
there