f living--or if--

The car gave a sudden lurch as it rounded a curve, and for a moment it
seemed to be a mere chance whether Conductor Billings would stay on
his platform or go off under those fire-spitting wheels. He caught
instinctively at his brake, saved himself, and stood still for a moment,
panting.

"I must have dozed," he said to himself.

Just then, dimly, through the blurred window, he saw again the little
figure of the child, its head on its breast as before, its blue hands
lying in its lap and the curious box beside it. John Billings felt a
coldness beyond the coldness of the night run through his blood. Then,
with a half-stifled cry, he threw back the door, and made a desperate
spring at the corner where the eerie thing sat.

And he touched the green carpeting on the seat, which was quite dry
and warm, as if no dripping, miserable little wretch had ever crouched
there.

He rushed to the front door.

"Bill," he roared, "I want to know about that kid."

"What kid?"

"The same kid! The wet one with the old coat and the box with iron
hasps! The one that's been sitting here in the car!"

Bill turned his surly face to confront the young conductor.

"You've been drinking, you fool," said he. "Fust thing you know you'll
be reported."

The conductor said not a word. He went slowly and weakly back to his
post and stood there the rest of the way leaning against the end of the
car for support. Once or twice he muttered:

"The poor little brat!" And again he said, "So you didn't love me after
all!"

He never knew how he reached home, but he sank to sleep as dying men
sink to death. All the same, being a hearty young man, he was on duty
again next day but one, and again the night was rainy and cold.

It was the last run, and the car was spinning along at its limit, when
there came a sudden soft shock. John Billings knew what that meant. He
had felt something of the kind once before. He turned sick for a moment,
and held on to the brake. Then he summoned his courage and went around
to the side of the car, which had stopped. Bill, the driver, was before
him, and had a limp little figure in his arms, and was carrying it to
the gaslight. John gave one look and cried:

"It's the same kid, Bill! The one I told you of!"

True as truth were the ragged coat dangling from the pitiful body, the
little blue hands, the thin shoulders, the stringy hair, the big arctics
on the feet. And in the road not far off was