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ND, Philip, if you take the 7.30 train from New York, you can escort Delia Holland, who is coming from Easton. So be sure to find her, make yourself known, and take care of the poor ittle thing. She really is unfit to travel alone."

Then followed items of domestic interest the facts that Tommy's throat troubled him less, and Anna was beginning to take music-lessons, and, after "your affectionate sister," two postscripts in regard to Aunt Belinda and the new carriage-horses.

Philip Anderson folded the letter with the air of a man who has performed one more duty, yawned, lit his cigar, and went out to meet a man and do business. He knew he could not go to Harrison until one day later than he had intended, and telegraphed to his sister to that effect, dismissing the idea of finding a travelling companion in the Miss Holland he had never seen, as not a very tempting one, and not at all regretting that his change of programme made that act of courtesy unnecessary. Kate was not to be relied upon in her selection of protégés, since she was essentially compassionate, and the fact that she was unfortunate or poor was a passport to her favour. She was a methodical and careful housewife, but found time for endless responsibilities beyond those entailed by her children and servants, taking on her shoulders half the woes, sentimental or otherwise, of the people she met. It had been used to disturb her husband during his life, though he never could complain that she neglected him in consequence.

"John," replied his wife, bravely, "you know I no more approve of these women than you do, and I'm sure it's flying in the face of Providence to support such a doctrine; but I met the poor things at Mrs. Hill's, and they looked so forlorn that I knew a cup of my tea would set them up better than a lonesome supper at the hotel; so I asked them here. I was glad I did, too," she added, musingly, "because they really were quite

like other people, and one knew a capital recipe for plum cake."

After her husband's death, she still left her money in the wool trade, in which he had been her brother's partner, and Philip carried on the business alone. He seldom visited his sister, because life was so hurried and eminently responsible at her house, that he, as a man who liked his ease, was rather tired thereby. Her urgent invitations had been declined, until she wrote in such an injured tone that he felt obliged to accept one.

It was a day's journey, and when he was fairly started, he thought, with a shade of annoyance, that it was a great waste of time, a considerable sacrifice on the altar of family affection; but it was to be done, and he solaced himself with a newspaper. Then he watched a rapturously happy couple somewhat satirically, and finally began to compose a little rhyme.

He was not a poet. Poetry and the wool trade are by no means compatible. He had once thought it possible to do something great in the literary world; but circumstances pointing to trade instead, he deserted the Muses. Of course, his talent was not a vigorous one, or it would have cried uproariously when thus smothered in its infancy; but, nevertheless, there was a book in his writing-desk, which no one ever saw, in which were various scribblings-the beginning of a drama, a relic of his early youth several odes to popular belles, under the names of Chloris and Clorinda, written in college days; and later fragments on the fringed gentian or the violet. He was looking abstractedly out of the window, trying to find a rhyme for "question," when a very sweet contralto voice at his side asked,"Is this seat taken ?"

He turned with a start, gathered up his papers. and politely offered his place by the window, which was declined.

In the one glance he had he saw only that the owner of the voice was small and plainly dressed, and that her gloves were shabby. His newspaper! had been read, and her coming scared away the incipient rhyme; so he had nothing to do but nurse the last thought that entered his mind. which had been that a certain class of women bore, unmistakably, the stamp of earning their own bread and fighting their way in the world. This one must be a governess, he thought. She looked rather timid, and as if she had been

subjected to constant nagging. Then his mind wandered away, and came back hurriedly when the voice at his side asked,

"Can you tell me, sir, if we reach Coventry soon?" "In half an hour," he told her.

“Ah! I am glad, because they have an eatingroom there, and I am very hungry."

She spoke in such a quiet, matter-of-fact way that he could not wonder at her addressing him. There was no trace of a desire to attract undue attention, but only an unconsciousness that there existed the slightest popular prejudice against talking with strangers. 'Yes; there is a stay of ten minutes. Have you been travelling all day? I thought you I thought you entered the train at the last station ?"

66

"Oh, yes; but it was not dinner-time at the seminary when I left (the Peachblow Seminary, on the hill), and it is against the rule to give lunches. So, as they have breakfast at six, I am now quite famished."

"I should hardly like to be a pupil where the rules are so strict," he said, and she fell at once into the trap.

"Oh, I am not a pupil! I used to be a teacher but last year I had some money left me, and gave up my situation, and I've been there now for a few days' visit. Somehow, one doesn't feel the same to go back after leading a free life. It is altogether different."

'And altogether pleasanter, I should say," he suggested, "to be a prisoner for a few days than to be in bondage perpetually."

"Yes; but I found myself so changed in my manner of looking at things. Now, there's poor Miss -, but I won't tell you her name, because it isn't quite fair, though you may never meet her. She has been teaching history there for fourteen years, and has become old and prim, and fallen into ruts, until I believe she doesn't know the sun shines for any other purpose than to illuminate the Peachblow Seminary. There is a pathetic look about her mouth, too, as though she had lost something out of life, though she doesn't know what. Now, I never used to think of pitying her any more than one does a potato sprouted in a cellar; but when I saw under what different conditions she might have lived I was sorry."

Philip Anderson began to be interested in the subject.

"Of course, it narrows one's horizon to be always in one place; but then one gains something in the ignorance which is bliss. Don't you think knocking about the world and finding illusions vanish, and discovering that heroworship is ammunition thrown away for lack of a worthy object, teaches a lesson of general distrust in human nature that one would rather not learn?"

"Oh! no; I'm sure not. I've never knocked

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Will you let me bring you something? said Philip to his companion.

"Yes, if you please," she answered, gratefully. "Only a sandwich and a little fruit. Here is my purse, If there is no change, you will find some bills in it."

He smiled as he saw the fat little pocket-book extended in the shabbily-gloved hand.

"No, I think I won't take it; because, you see, I don't believe in human nature, and as you have practically illustrated your theory, I might take the liberty to point mine by walking off with your money.

When he came back with some sandwiches, cake, and a basket of fruit, she thanked him, and gravely asked the price. Whereupon he replied, with equal gravity, that he had a very poor memory. He had forgotten.

She arrested a sandwich on its way to her mouth, and laid it down.

"I see," she said, " you mean I am not to pay; but in that case, I must not eat anything." He was amused at her independence, but a little vexed at the same time.

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Why not let me have the pleasure of lunching with you? See, I have brought enough for us both, thinking you would not object to making a tiresome journey brighter for a fellowtraveller."

She hesitated an instant, then said, gently, "I think I must be right. Will you tell me how much it all cost ?"

"Three shillings and sixpence," he said, reluctantly.

"Then I shall pay for half," said she, counting out the money. "And you will eat your lunch with me, will you not?" smiling so brightly, that he could not resist the good humour of the look.

People invariably become talkative when they have broken bread together, and these two entertained each other admirably.

He discovered that her eyes were grey, with long lashes; that, if her mouth was a trifle large, it had beautiful teeth; and, in spite of the almost threadbare plainness of her dress, she was, unmistakably, a lady. He was curious to lead her back to something concerning herself, and said, carelessly, "Tell me something more, please, about the people at the Peachblow."

"Dear me, what did I say of them?" she asked, startled. "I am so sorry, because there are a thousand things that interest me so much that I might have spoken of them, and I wouldn't

for the world. No, I shan't talk any more about them," and, seeming for the first time to realise that he was a stranger, she relapsed into silence, and he anathematised his unfortunate suggestion.

As they approached Harrison it grew dark, and the lamps were lighted. An old woman had got in at the previous station, with a baby and two quite unmanageable boys, evidently grandchildren. They seated themselves near the door, and the children propounded questions in a shrill key, rushed at the baby in paroxysms of affection, only to be beaten back by the long-suffering grandmother, and then besought her to let them go out and ride on the platform. When she refused, and anxiously told them to sit down, they held a noiseless consultation behind her, and then made a simultaneous rush for the door.

Philip had not seen it, because, as his companion had become silent, he was looking from the window; but she had watched the little byplay, and, as the boys opened the door to plunge out, she swiftly rose, darted forward, and pulled them back. The grandmother, worried beyond self-possession, thanked her effusively, and she, with a desire to help, took the vacant seat, drew one of the boys in with her while the other stood by her side, and talked with them gaily, until Philip could see they were better entertained than by a dozen pranks. He moodily wished he were one of the group.

Arrived at Harrison, he felt an odd sensation of disappointment that he was not even to say good-bye to her; but she was helping the old lady to gather up her parcels and arrange the baby's wraps, keeping a watchful eye on the boys, and had apparently forgotten his existence. He crowded past the people to her.

"Can I be of any service?"

"No, thank you," she said, brightly. "Then I will say good-bye, as I leave the train here."

"Good-bye, sir. Here, little boy, keep close to me." And, absurd as it was, he went off, feeling a little injured.

Kate was very glad to see him. It was pleasant to be welcomed, the fires were bright, and the table inviting; so, though the children were more hilarious than he liked, he sat down to dinner in an amiable frame of mind. Mrs. Merriam was radiant with good humour, and before the joint was removed had told him the orchard fence was repaired, the cook had run away to be married, and a dozen other items, the irrelevancy of which rather bewildered him. Still, he realised that her confidences arose from her delight in his presence, and submitted with a good grace.

"Delia didn't appear last night," she said. "You know I hoped you would make each other's acquaintance in the train."

"Yes, and with your usual lack of logic,

forgot that I hadn't an idea even of her looks. But who is she, and why is she coming here?"

"She is a cousin of John's, and the dearest, most lovable little thing. She has been teaching for three or four years in an out-of-the-way place, and last autumn Uncle Jerry Mason died and left her a few hundred pounds. She hated teaching, so she left it at once, and, though she has the merest pittance, not enough for a comfortable living, she is as happy as a princess." "Is she young?

"Yes; something over twenty. I invited her here for a visit, and we liked her so well that, when she went away for a week, I insisted on her coming back to stay indefinitely. The children are never away from her."

"Nice for her!" with rather a sardonic emphasis.

Yes," said Kate, innocently, "so I think. But some people wouldn't like it, you know. She is such a study, too, that you could not help being amused and interested. Sometimes she is the most absent-minded person in the world; actually loses her way in this little town; and gets cheated abominably in a bargain; yet she is capable of heroism, real heroism, Philip! She was on the lawn with the children one day, and Maud walked out on that old log in the frogpond, and fell in, and Delia, without a second's delay, waded in and saved her life, though I had told her only the day before that I believed the water was six or seven feet deep."

"Delia's come, mamma!" cried Maud, rushing in, and then scudding out again as fast as her little feet would carry her. Mrs. Merriam, with a hasty excuse, left Philip sitting alone. There was a chorus of voices in the hall, in which he recognised, with a start, a strangely-familiar one, which he had not expected to hear again.

Mrs. Merriam came back to her place, looking decidedly pleased.

"Yes, Delia has come. She lost her train yesterday. Do excuse me for leaving you so without ceremony; but it was quite a surprise. She will be down to dinner in a few minutes."

She came in with the children clinging to her hands and dress. Yes, it was his acquaintance of the afternoon-quite unchanged, except so far as the removal of her hat showed the entire face, softened and shaded by waves of heavy chestnut hair.

Mrs. Merriam had gone as far in her introduction as "my brother," when she saw that the two had recognised each other, and stopped short.

"I had the pleasure of making Miss Holland's acquaintance in the train," he said, rather mischievously. "You know you advised my doing so."

"But I said she would come yesterday; and

then, if you arrived together, why in the world didn't Delia come up in the carriage with you?" "I'll tell you about it, Mrs. Merriam," answered Delia, quietly. "Neither Mr. Anderson nor I made ourselves known; but we happened to sit together, and so we talked a little. I stopped to help a woman with some children at the station, and they were so laden with parcels that I walked to Chestnut-street with them, and then," she added, laughing and blushing deeply, "I am ashamed to say I got bewildered, and couldn't find my way here for some time."

"Oh, Delia, Delia!" cried Mrs. Merriam, laughing. "If you can get lost in this little place, what couldn't you accomplish in a larger one? But I'm so glad you met in that unceremonious way!"

Philip was glad, too. It gave his visit a promising aspect to have this original young woman in the house. He liked her better without the hat and gloves, and he noticed that the hands were plump and white, and those of a lady. He wondered idly if he could make her blush again as she had when she recognised him. When they had left the table, and she stood by the open fire in the drawing-room, he came to her side, and said, a little maliciously,

"If we had known we were to be in the same house, it would have saved us some trouble; because we could have left that little account of three shillings and sixpence to be settled at our leisure."

The blood dyed her face in an instant, and her hands went up in a pretty, appealing gesture. "Oh! please don't tell!" she cried.

"On my honour, no!" he said, solemnly; and all Mrs. Merriam's entreaties were of no avail.

They became excellent friends, except that he found, as time went on, that she grew more reserved than at first, and appeared to consider whether this or that topic would be a proper

Now, I

are sweeter? I mean there is a furore for them now-a-days," he added, hastily. "Yes, that does very well in art; but one hardly expects the same in people. have remembered since that I began the conversation with you that day, and told you a good many things about myself, and didn't realise until I saw you afterward, that you might have thought it odd. No; don't feel obliged to contradict me. I did not say it for that. I only wanted you to see that, if I make blunders, it isn't because I choose to do it."

"I never saw a person with more exquisite tact," he said, warmly. "No, I won't be interrupted, either. You have maligned yourself, and I shall give my side of the story. When that forlorn old maid, Miss Spinner, came here, who could have put her at ease with a finer tact than you did? When Ann dropped the china, and Kate came so near losing her temper, didn't you say the right thing at the right time, and quiet the storm? When" But here Mrs. Merriam came in, and he stopped in some confusion, and Delia left the room with burning cheeks. Philip confessed to himself that she interested him greatly. He liked the unusual sufficiently to study her simply true character and quaint modes of expression. Beyond and above a certain innocence she possessed, she was really a woman of fine sensibilities and keen mind. Philip found, to his surprise, that he talked unreservedly to her of topics which had hitherto been buried in his own mind simply because they belonged to the supersensible world, and, like many other men, he had a strange timidity in all but practical matters.

When the subject of her leaving Harrison came up, it gave him a kind of shock to realise that their happy meeting must end. He could not find such another friend, and, furthermore, what would she do, fighting her way in the world, and being cheated out of her paltry little income?

"As unfit to go about by herself as a child. She needs a guardian!" said Mrs. Merriam. It was true, and, happy thought! he would marry her. He felt like embracing his sister for innocently suggesting it, and was instantly aroused from his somewhat lackadaisical dreaming over their parting to a brisk cheerfulness. He determined to lose no time; but just as that resolution was formed one morning in the library, Delia appeared with her bonnet on, and Mrs. Merriam ordered the carriage to take her to the depôt.

He was startled. "You are not going away? "Only for the day," said Delia, in her usual quiet manner. "Miss Rose, one of the teachers at the seminary, is to have a cancer removed from her cheek, and asked me to be with her ; so I am going to Grafton."

She spoke very coolly; but he could see a tense expression about her mouth, and her face was quite white, as if she had spent much time and strength in gaining courage.

Philip had a passion for taking care of people and animals. Whatever was helpless appealed to him at once, much as it did to his sister; and he felt a great wave of tenderness welling up in his heart for this young creature, who thought of others, and had no one to care much for her. It should all be different if she would let him love her. He fed on that happy thought while she was gone.

The day had been cold, and the night was bright with stars when Delia started from the little station at Grafton. She left Miss Rose lying very white and still after the operation. It would be successful, the physicians said; and Delia was conscious only of a great relief at that, and of breathing the fresh air again after that heavy with ether. She was very weak and tired after the hard day, and could only lean her head wearily against the carriage window, and think, chiefly of Philip. Her thoughts were oftenest of him, it happened.

"Camden Junction! Change carriages for Harrison !"

She rose mechanically, and left the carriage. It was a roundabout and tiresome way home, and she would be obliged to wait there threequarters of an hour for the train. She was glad she had no baggage to think of, for business of the simplest kind made her ill at ease. But her hands were empty. Where was her purse? It had lain in her lap all the way. She remembered, too, of hearing something drop when she rose, and realised, with a sinking heart, that purse and ticket were gone!

Now, Delia was a woman who could be both brave and heroic. She had an appreciation of what was finest in the intellectual world, but in some matters pertaining to the most ordinary common sense she was woefully ignorant. In this emergency the emotional side of her nature suggested a remedy which would never have occurred to a more practical person.

"Will you direct me to the nearest clergyman?" she asked a burly cabman.

"A minister? Any particular denomination?" 66 "No; the one that lives nearest." "Well, that's Mr. Fairchild's house at the end of the street. You can see it from here-the white one with a bay-window."

Delia thanked him, and hurried swiftly away. Her heart beat loudly as she ran up the steps of the modest little parsonage, and rang the bell. She was ushered in, and told her story, asking for a loan of money to buy her ticket. She would return it next day, without fail. Mr. Fairchild's face became severe.

"No, madam, I am very sorry," he said, in

all courtesy, "but, unfortunately, I have late made a resolution not to act in any case of distress which may not be genuine. I really canno do it."

Delia turned, too hurt to protest, and she was no sooner out of sight than the kind-hearted man was sorry, half-tempted to follow her and retract his refusal; but irresolution prevailed, and he did not. She was tired and lonesome, and felt the tears running fast down her cheeks.

"Why, it is you!" cried a voice, in intense surprise. "Delia, how in the world came yo

here ?"

It was Philip. And with the quiet acceptance of the situation, which illogical people show, she was not in the least surprised, only very glad and light-hearted. Why should she be surprised? She supposed the serene Archangel Michael and other of the heavenly powers appeared miraculously on the scene of action when they were most needed, and why not her champion?

They walked on toward the depot, while she sobbing at intervals, told her story, and Philp was not even inclined to laugh, which, in a person of his temperament, spoke eloquently fo the earnestness of his love.

"Poor child! You shall never have such a doleful time again. But you don't ask how I came to be here in the nick of time. I intended to meet you at the station and walk home with you. And then I grew so impatient and lonesome without you, that I came down to Camden Junction at four, and waited to go up with you. I got tired of staying at the depot, and set out to explore the town, and was just coming back when I overtook you."

"I am so glad; so very glad! But why did you take so much trouble to see me? Has anything happened ?"

(6

Why? Because I am in love with you!" he said, vehemently, "and have been ever since that night in the train. Delia, will you marry me?"

"I shall always make blunders !" she said. Philip replied:

"I don't care! They'll amuse me better than Scheherezade's tales did the Sultan. And don't you realise, little girl, after this day, that you need somebody to take care of you?"

"Yes, I believe I do," she said, with so soft a note in her voice that, had there been light enough for him to catch the look that probably accompanied it, it is safe to say he would have kissed her on the spot; but the darkness was only broken by the head-light of the coming locomotive which, to their happy eyes, seemed a beacon illuminating some unknown, pleasant land. Delia felt that to live without having to think of tickets and pocket-books was a bliss not to be exceeded by any in Paradise.