fficial aloofness even on the street, where there were no
car-windows to compromise his dignity. At the end of his run he stepped
indifferently from the train along with the passengers, his street
hat on his head and his conductor's cap in an alligator-skin bag, went
directly into the station and changed his clothes. It was a matter of
the utmost importance to him never to be seen in his blue trousers away
from his train. He was usually cold and distant with men, but with
all women he had a silent, grave familiarity, a special handshake,
accompanied by a significant, deliberate look. He took women, married or
single, into his confidence; walked them up and down in the moonlight,
telling them what a mistake he had made by not entering the office
branch of the service, and how much better fitted he was to fill the
post of General Passenger Agent in Denver than the rough-shod man who
then bore that title. His unappreciated worth was the tender secret
Larry shared with his sweethearts, and he was always able to make some
foolish heart ache over it.

As I drew near home that morning, I saw Mrs. Harling out in her yard,
digging round her mountain-ash tree. It was a dry summer, and she had
now no boy to help her. Charley was off in his battleship, cruising
somewhere on the Caribbean sea. I turned in at the gate it was with a
feeling of pleasure that I opened and shut that gate in those days;
I liked the feel of it under my hand. I took the spade away from Mrs.
Harling, and while I loosened the earth around the tree, she sat down
on the steps and talked about the oriole family that had a nest in its
branches.

'Mrs. Harling,' I said presently, 'I wish I could find out exactly how
Antonia's marriage fell through.'

'Why don't you go out and see your grandfather's tenant, the Widow
Steavens? She knows more about it than anybody else. She helped Antonia
get ready to be married, and she was there when Antonia came back. She
took care of her when the baby was born. She could tell you everything.
Besides, the Widow Steavens is a good talker, and she has a remarkable
memory.'

III

ON THE FIRST OR second day of August I got a horse and cart and set out
for the high country, to visit the Widow Steavens. The wheat harvest was
over, and here and there along the horizon I could see black puffs of
smoke from the steam threshing-machines. The old pasture land was now
being broken up into wheatfields and cornfields, the red grass