companions, with the instinct of tired animals, were
already making their way in knots of two or three, or in silent file,
across the intervening space between the building and their dormitory.
A few had already lit their pipes and were walking leisurely, but the
majority were hurrying from the chill sea-breeze to the warmth and
comfort of the long, well-lit room, lined with blanketed berths, and set
with plain wooden chairs and tables. The young man lingered for a moment
on the wooden platform outside the dining-shed,--partly to evade this
only social gathering of his fellows as they retired for the night, and
partly attracted by a strange fascination to the faint distant glow,
beyond the point of land, which indicated the lights of San Francisco.

There was a slight rustle behind him! It was the young girl who, with a
white woolen scarf thrown over her head and shoulders, had just left the
room. She started when she saw him, and for an instant hesitated.

"You are going home, Miss Woodridge?" he said pleasantly.

"Yes," she returned, in a faint, embarrassed voice. "I thought I'd run
on ahead of ma!"

"Will you allow me to accompany you?"

"It's only a step," she protested, indicating the light in the window of
the superintendent's house, the most remote of the group of buildings,
yet scarcely a quarter of a mile distant.

"But it's quite dark," he persisted smilingly.

She stepped from the platform to the ground; he instantly followed and
ranged himself at a little distance from her side. She protested still
feebly against his "troubling himself," but in another moment they were
walking on quietly together. Nevertheless, a few paces from the platform
they came upon the upheaved clods of the fresh furrows, and their
progress over them was slow and difficult.

"Shall I help you? Will you take my arm?" he said politely.

"No, thank you, Mr. Reddy."

So! she knew his name! He tried to look into her eyes, but the woolen
scarf hid her head. After all, there was nothing strange in her
knowing him; she probably had the names of the men before her in the
dining-room, or on the books. After a pause he said:--

"You quite startled me. One becomes such a mere working machine here
that one quite forgets one's own name,--especially with the prefix of
'Mr.'"

"And if it don't happen to be one's real name either," said the girl,
with an odd, timid audacity.

He looked up quickly--more attracted by her manner than her