htn't to be upset like that, Mr. Vane, when he comes up here to rest.
I am afraid that you are rather a terrible person, although you look so
nice. Won't you tell me what you did to him?"

Austen was non-plussed.

"Nothing intentional," he answered earnestly, "but it wouldn't be fair
to your father if I gave you my version of a business conversation that
passed between us, would it?"

"Perhaps not," said Victoria. She sat down on the flagstone with
her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, and looked at him
thoughtfully. He knew well enough that a wise general would have
retreated--horse, foot, and baggage; but Pepper did not stir.

"Do you know," said Victoria, "I have an idea you came up here about Zeb
Meader."

"Zeb Meader!"

"Yes. I told my father about him,--how you rescued him, and how you went
to see him in the hospital, and what a good man he is, and how poor."

"Oh, did you!" exclaimed Austen.

"Yes. And I told him the accident wasn't Zeb's fault, that the train
didn't whistle or ring, and that the crossing was a blind one."

"And what did he say?" asked Austen, curiously.

"He said that on a railroad as big as his something of the kind must
happen occasionally. And he told me if Zeb didn't make a fuss and act
foolishly, he would have no cause to regret it."

"And did you tell Zeb?" asked Austen.

"Yes," Victoria admitted, "but I'm sorry I did, now."

"What did Zeb say?"

Victoria laughed in spite of herself, and gave a more or less exact
though kindly imitation of Mr. Meader's manner.

"He said that wimmen-folks had better stick to the needle and the
duster, and not go pokin' about law business that didn't concern 'em.
But the worst of it was," added Victoria, with some distress, "he won't
accept any more fruit. Isn't he silly? He won't get it into his head
that I give him the fruit, and not my father. I suspect that he actually
believes my father sent me down there to tell him that."

Austen was silent, for the true significance of this apparently obscure
damage case to the Northeastern Railroads was beginning to dawn on him.
The public was not in the best of humours towards railroads: there was
trouble about grade crossings, and Mr. Meader's mishap and the manner of
his rescue by the son of the corporation counsel had given the accident
a deplorable publicity. Moreover, if it had dawned on Augustus Flint
that the son of Hilary Vane might prosecute the suit, it was worth while
taking