cue her pet; nobody seemed to own the Irish terrier,
and the majority of the passengers, being working men, carried neither
sticks nor umbrellas, and nobody appeared to be inclined to interfere
otherwise with so formidable-looking an antagonist. Into the midst of
this hubbub came Jane, and the first thing her eyes fell upon was
a frightened child, in a little wheel chair in a corner under the
window, who was sobbing loudly with absolute terror.

Pattie's little charge!

Jane recognised the child and the chair in an instant, and looked
round for Pattie. As she did so the Mixham Junction train thundered
in, adding tenfold to the noise and confusion, the dog-fight lost its
interest in a moment for the onlookers, and they streamed out on to
the platform, mingling and struggling with the passengers who were
alighting.

One glance showed Jane that Pattie was not in sight. Her opportunity
of vengeance had come to her. She recognised it, triumphed in it, all
in the flash of a moment, and bending over little terrified, crying
Maud, she unfastened her strap with a touch, lifted her out, and
saying aloud,

"Never mind, dear, it's all over now," she stepped swiftly across the
platform and entered a third class carriage.

"Right!" shouted a porter, banging the door behind her. There was a
moment's pause--a moment for reflection--a moment to go back, but Jane
did not take it. She had paid Pattie out at last.

The carriage was full of people, and they looked at the sobbing child,
some with curiosity, some with annoyance, but Jane was equal to the
occasion.

She settled the child on her lap, wiped her wet eyes and set her hat
straight, and then she faced a kind-looking lady who sat opposite.

"There's been two dogs fighting in there and it's frightened her," she
said. "Never mind, my dear, it's all over now."

"I don't want to go in the train, I want to go home," cried Maud,
struggling to get off this strange woman's knee, "I want to go home. I
want my mother," she sobbed.

"Hush, hush, my dear!" said Jane authoritatively, giving her an
admonitory little shake. Then she looked apologetically at the kind
lady again.

"She don't like leaving her mother--but there's a new baby sister at
her home," she said glibly, "so she's coming home with me for a bit.
But she's been spoilt and she don't like the idea of a new baby at
all, and she ain't used to her auntie yet, and then there was the dogs
on top of it all! Hush, my dear, h