she be there?" I asked myself nervously.

She was there, all right, there at the gate. The Conductor was
seemingly as gratified as I. He turned his charges over to the old
woman, who was weeping for joy, and hugging the children between
bursts of lavish, loving Deutsch.

I climbed into a Parmelee bus and said, "Auditorium Annex, please."

And as I sat there in the bus, while they were packing the grips on
top, the Conductor passed by, carrying a tin box in one hand and his
train cap in the other.

I saw an Elk's tooth on his watch-chain.

I called to him, "I saw you help the babies--good boy!"

He looked at me in doubt.

"Those German children," I said; "I'm glad you were so kind to them!"

"Oh," he answered, smiling; "yes, I had forgotten; why, of course,
that is a railroad man's business, you know--to help everybody who
needs help."

He waved his hand and disappeared up the stairway that led to the
offices.

And it came to me that he had forgotten the incident so soon, simply
because to help had become the habit of his life. He may read this,
and he may not. There he was--big, bold, bluff and bronzed, his hair
just touched with the frost of years, and beneath his brass buttons a
heart beating with a desire to bless and benefit. I do not know his
name, but the sight of the man, carrying a child on each arm, their
arms encircling his neck in perfect faith, their long journey done,
and he turning them over in safety to their Grandmother, was something
to renew one's faith in humanity.

Even a great Railway System has a soul.

If you answer that corporations have no souls, I'll say: "Friend, you
were never more mistaken in your life. The business that has no soul
soon ceases to exist; and the success of a company or corporation
turns on the kind of soul it possesses. Soul is necessary to service.
Courtesy, kindness, honesty and efficiency are tangible soul-assets;
and all good railroad men know it."

-------------------------------------

By taking thought you can add cubits to your stature.

TO THE WEST

To stand by the open grave of one you have loved, and feel the sky
shut down over less worth in the world is the supreme test.

There you prove your worth, if ever.

You must live and face the day, and face each succeeding day,
realizing that "the moving finger writes, and having writ moves on,
nor all your tears shall blot a line of it."