o the poor, overwrought girl. Miss Holt took her in charge
at once and tried to keep her cheerful. When they had checked her trunk
and the train was about ready to start, Ans looked uneasy and fidgeted
about. Bert looked on, silent and dark. Flaxen, with her new long dress
and new hat, looked quite the woman, and Miss Holt greeted her as such;
indeed, she kept so close to her that Anson looked in vain for a chance
to say something more which was on his mind. Finally, as the train was
about going, he said hesitatingly:

"Elga, jest a minute." She stared for a moment, then came up to him.

"I didn't want to call y' Flaxen afore her," he explained; "but
you--ain't--kissed us good-bye." He ended hesitatingly.

The tears were already streaming down her cheeks, and this was too
much. She flung her arms about his neck and sobbed on his bosom with
the abandon of girlish grief.

"I don't wan' to go 't all, pap."

"Oh, yes, y' do, Elga; yes; y' do! Don't mind us; we'll be all right.
I'll have Bert writin' a full half the time. There, kiss me good-bye
an' git on--Bert here, too."

She kissed him twice through his bristling moustache, and going to Bert
offered her lips, and then came back to Anson and threw herself against
his broad, strong breast. She had no one to love but these two. It
seemed as if she were leaving everything in the world. Anson took her
on his firm arm and helped her on the car, and followed her till she
was seated beside Miss Holt.

"Don't cry, babe; you'll make ol' pap feel turrible. He'll break right
down here afore all these people, an' blubber, if y' don't cheer up.
Why, you'll soon be as happy as a fly in soup. Good-bye, good-bye!"

The train started, and Anson, brushing his eyes with his great brown
hand, swung himself off and stood looking at her. As the train passed
him she rushed to the rear end of the car, and remained there looking
back at the little station till the sympathetic Miss Holt gently led
her back to her seat. Then she flattened her round cheek against the
pane and tried to see the boys. When the last house of the town passed
by her window she sank back in her seat and sobbed silently.

* * * * *

"I feel as if I'd be'n attendin' my own funeral," said Anson, after
they had got into their wagon and the train had gone out of sight in
the haze of the prairie.

"Well, it's pretty tough on that child to go off that way. To her the
world is a