. "It was awfully good of you to come, Boardman. I don't know
what I should have done without you."

"Nothing I like more than these little trips. Brightens you up to sere
the misery of others; makes you feel that you're on peculiarly good
terms with Providence. Haven't enjoyed myself so much since that day in
Portland." Boardman's eyes twinkled.

"Yes," said Dan, with a deep sigh, "it's a pity it hadn't ended there."

"Oh, I don't know. You won't have to go through with it again. Something
that had to come, wasn't it? Never been satisfied if you hadn't tried
it. Kind of aching void before, and now you've got enough."

"Yes, I've got enough," said Dan, "if that's all."

When they got out of the train at Ponkwasset Falls, and the conductor
and the brakeman, who knew Dan as his father's son, and treated him with
the distinction due a representative of an interest valued by the road,
had bidden him a respectfully intimate good-night, and he began to climb
the hill to his father's house, he recurred to the difficulty before him
in breaking the news to his family. "I wish I could have it over in a
flash. I wish I'd thought to telegraph it to them."

"Wouldn't have done," said Boardman. "It would have given 'em time to
formulate questions and conjectures, and now the astonishment will take
their breath away till you can get your second wind, and then--you'll be
all right."

"You think so?" asked Dan submissively.

"Know so. You see, if you could have had it over in a flash, it would
have knocked you flat. But now you've taken all the little steps, and
you've got a lot more to take, and you're all braced up. See? You're
like rock, now--adamant." Dan laughed in forlorn perception of
Boardman's affectionate irony. "Little steps are the thing. You'll have
to go in now and meet your family, and pass the time of day with each
one, and talk about the weather, and account for my being along, and
ask how they all are; and by the time you've had dinner, and got settled
with your legs out in front of the fire, you'll be just in the mood for
it. Enjoy telling them all about it."

"Don't, Boardman," pleaded Dan. "Boardy, I believe if I could get in and
up to my room without anybody's seeing me, I'd let you tell them. There
don't seem to be anybody about, and I think we could manage it."

"It wouldn't work," said Boardman. "Got to do it yourself."

"Well, then, wait a minute," said Dan desperately; and Boardman knew
that he was