n
things of the Turntable yard.

So that one evening he comes home, and when Molly kisses him because he
brought all his books as if to study Danny explains, "Mother, I am now a
man and have a job calling crews, so study is of no more use."

He stacks his reader and arithmetic on the shelf by the old book, and
Michael hearing the news that evening laughs with pleasure that the boy
has completed his education so soon and promises to put half Danny's
salary in bank in his own name. Time passes and the books fade in their
bindings, and are forgotten even by Molly; but the eyes of her shine
more clearly than ever as if studying in pages which no one else could
see. When Danny is about eighteen years old, and already operator at
Turntable, she notices that a habit has come over him of pausing in the
doorway at dusk, and there he will stand gazing out into the yards with
folded arms till at last his mother asks the reason with timid
eagerness.

"'T is the lanterns," says Dan. "Beckon they do to things beyond
Turntable."

"To things beyond," repeats Molly with hand on her heart. "Turn to me,"
she says; and Dan does so, grinning at his fancy; but as she studies the
black-browed face a fierce frown like the fluff and smoke of powder
passes over it, with the white teeth gleaming out.

"Beckon they do, mother," he says steadily, "to the job of trainmaster
and superintendent, and even beyond to places high and powerful. And
there I must trample my way whoever has to be pulled down to make
room."

In that instant she sees him as he is, the Regan of them all; and after
a bit she smiles and nods, but never again does she ask about the
beckoning of the lanterns.

So time passes again, and Dan goes up to division headquarters at Barlow
to dispatch trains, and Michael gives a last order as assistant
roadmaster and comes home to his long sickness. And now Molly is alone
in the little house, settled down to keep blooming the memories of it
along with the hollyhocks of the garden beyond the lattice with the
morning-glory vines trailing over. Time fades her face, but 't is still
uplifted and lighted, and later she is seen among the flowers till they
die in the fall, and winter coming down she sits at her window knitting
a shawl as the snow is knitted without.

But deep is her grieving over Dan, who is by this time superintendent,
with his policy of pull-down and trample-under, dreaded by all round
him. Two or three times a year he