props the gown had a collapsed, inconsequent air.
But little Mrs. Nancy had never seen her own back, and she wore the gown
with a pleased consciousness of being well dressed. Then there was the
thin cashmere shoulder cape, with the long slimpsy fringe, which Willie,
in his pride and fondness, had persuaded her to buy, and which had a
curiously jaunty and inapt appearance on the narrow shoulders. The close
black felt bonnet was rusty and of antiquated shape. And since few ever
thought of looking within these prosaic externals to note the delicacy
of the soft old cheek, and the sweet innocence of the faded blue eyes
beneath the thin gray locks, it is perhaps no wonder that the dwellers
in the stately mansions quite overlooked their modest little neighbor.

Mrs. Nancy was expecting to bring back her marketing in the flat twine
bag she carried, and she was also thinking of calling at the milliner's
and inquiring the cost of having her old black straw bonnet pressed over
and retrimmed. She held her purse tightly between her fingers, encased
in loose black cotton gloves, as she tried to estimate the sum of such
an unwonted outlay. Her means were very, very slender, yet she could not
bear that Willie's mother should look too shabby.

And was that all? Who knows but that the spring instinct of renewal and
rejuvenation played a part in her resolve quite independent of the
perennial thought of Willie? The drama of life does not cease even in
the most unobtrusive consciousness. It was going on in little Mrs.
Nancy's brain at every step of her morning walk. As the shriek of a
locomotive rent the air, a bright smile suddenly crossed her face. Her
thoughts had taken a different and more inspiring turn.

"Who knows," she said to herself. "Maybe that is the very engine that
will take me home some day--when Atchison begins to pay again."

The noisy engines had always a reassuring sound to her ears. She would
sometimes lie in bed listening with rapture to their discordant cries.
They were the willing servants that would one day carry her eastward,
miles upon miles, hours upon hours--eastward to the old home, within
smell of the salt air, where there were familiar faces to welcome her,
familiar voices to speak of Willie.

The people here, the few she knew, were very kind, but they seemed to
have forgotten Willie, and she was shy of speaking of him. But all the
home folks would flock to meet her, and to hear of his last brave hours.
H