eft to take a peep at the little, locked cottage on
Amity Street, now and then. Nan could say "Goodbye" only very hastily
to Bess Harley and her other school friends. Her school had to be broken
off at a bad time in the year, but there was the prospect of a change in
Nan's method of education the next fall.

Momsey and Papa Sherwood took the train east an hour before Nan and
Uncle Henry boarded that for Chicago. All went with a rush and clatter,
and Nan found herself at last rumbling out of Tillbury, on her way to
the northern wilderness, while a thin drive of fine snowflakes tapped on
the car windows.

Chapter X. GEDNEY RAFFER

It was fortunate for Nan Sherwood that on the day of parting with her
parents she had so much to do, and that there was so much to see, and so
many new things of which to think.

She had never traveled to Chicago before, nor far from Tillbury at all.
Even the chair car was new to the girl's experience and she found it
vastly entertaining to sit at a broad window with her uncle in the
opposite chair, gazing out upon the snowy landscape as the train hurried
over the prairie.

She had a certain feeling that her Uncle Henry was an anomaly in the
chair car. His huge bearskin coat and the rough clothing under it; his
felt boots, with rubber soles and feet; the fact that he wore no linen
and only a string tie under the collar of his flannel shirt; his great
bronzed hands and blunted fingers with their broken nails, all these
things set him apart from the other men who rode in the car.

Papa Sherwood paid much attention to the niceties of dress, despite the
fact that his work at the Atwater Mills had called for overalls and,
frequently, oily hands. Uncle Henry evidently knew little about stiff
collars and laundered cuffs, or cravats, smart boots, bosomed shirts, or
other dainty wear for men. He was quite innocent of giving any offence
to the eye, however. Lying back in the comfortable chair with his coat
off and his great lumberman's boots crossed, he laughed at anything Nan
said that chanced to be the least bit amusing, until the gas-globes rang
again.

It seemed to Nan as though there never was such a huge man before. She
doubted if Goliath could have looked so big to young David, when the
shepherd boy went out with his sling to meet the giant. Uncle Henry
was six feet, four inches in height and broad in proportion. The chair
creaked under his weight when he moved. Other people in the car