on that 'ar
line, why, it's all I _ken_ do. That's the hull of it! I ain't no
speechifier, you see, Junior"--with an embarrassed laugh at the boy's
evident discontent--"I'll hev to depen' on you fur to say it--or maybe,
write done ship-shape, some o' these notions o' mine, some day. I'd git
better holt o' them myself ef I was to hear somebody what knowed how to
put things go over 'em. Mother! eddication wouldn't learn no woman how
to make better bread'n yourn. Fact is, there's nothin' ekal to home, an
home-vittles an' home-folks! With such a livin' ez I've took in, I
sha'n't need a bite at the Agapolis deepo. We're half an hour there, but
I hate the very smell o' them eatin' houses! An' please GOD!
I'll bring Her in at twelve--sharp!"

He pulled on his overcoat and felt in the pocket for his gloves. "I'm
main proud o' them fellers!" he said, fitting one to a hand half the
size of a leg-of-mutton and not unlike it in shape.

He had said the same thing every time he put them on since Christmas.
They were a holiday gift from the conductors on the line between the two
cities which was his semi-daily beat.

"I take a world o' comfort in them, this freezin' weather. Fact is,
Mother, this world's been pretty full o' comfort, all the way through,
for us--a nice easy grade--ef yer father _ain't_ a Hero, Junior!
Six-twenty! I mus' be off! I like to be there in time to see thet Stokes
is on han' an' all right. Ef you don't min', Mother, we'll hev him to
dinner nex' Sunday. I want to do somethin' t'wards savin' Stokes.
'Specially ez he's on _my_ line!"

At six-fifty, Top, Junior, from his post at the calla-window, saw the
long line of cars, spaced by dots of murkey red, the luminous plume of
smoke trailing, comet-wise, above them, slowly pass over the bridge. It
was a cloudy evening and the marsh-mists swallowed up the blinking
windows as soon as the train gained the other shore. Junior loved his
mother, but his father seemed to take most of the life and cheer out of
the room when he went. Existence stagnated for the boy who had no mates
of his own age.

"I wish he didn't hev to run in bad weather and nights!" he said,
fretfully.

"It's his business, child, an' your father ain't one to dodge his duty."

"I hate the word!" retorted the petted cripple. "When I'm a man I'll be
my own master, and switch Duty off the track."

The obnoxious word came up again in the course of the evening. In
reading aloud to his teacher they h