only fifteen, and when one is fifteen, and there is
fun going on that one can't be in, it is very trying, to say the least.
Not that tears help it the least in the world, no, indeed. In fact,
tears at such times always make matters worse.

Well, she was only fifteen, as I was saying, and, instead of going with
the family into town, she had to stay home and make pies.

Now the family were no relation to her. She was only Mrs. Mason's
"help." Eighteen months ago Letty's mother (a widow) had died. Her
brother had gone away off to a large city, and she had come to Mrs.
Mason's to live. Mrs. Mason was as kind as she could be to her, but
you know one must feel "blue" at times when one has lost all but one
relative in the world, and that one is a dear brother who is way, way
off, even if one is surrounded by the kindest friends.

So now, tell me, don't you think Letty had something to shed tears
about?

"I j-just c-can't help it. I'm not one bit 'thankful' this
Thanksgiving, and I'm not going to pretend I am. So there. And here I
am making nasty pies, when everybody else has gone to town having a
good time. No, I'm not one bit thankful, so there, and I feel as if
turkey and cranberries and pumpkin pie would choke me."

But after Letty "had her cry out" she felt better, and in a little
while her nimble fingers had finished her work and she was ready for a
little amusement. This amusement she concluded to find by taking a
little walk to the end of the garden. The garden ended abruptly in a
ravine, and it was a source of unfailing delight to go down there and,
from a secure position, see the trains go thundering by.

In fifteen minutes the train would be along and then she would go back.
Idly gazing down from her secure height, her eye was suddenly caught by
something creeping along the ground. Letty's keen sight at once
decided this to be a man--a man with a log in his hand. This log he
carefully adjusted across the track.

"What a very curious--" began Letty. But her exclamation was cut short
by the awful intuition that the man meant to wreck the on-coming train.

All thought of private sorrow fled in an instant. What could she do?
What must she do, for save the train she must, of course. Who else was
there to do it? And oh, such a little time to do it in. To go around
by the path would take a half-hour. To climb down the side of the
ravine would be madness. Suddenly her mind was illuminated. Yes, s