he new life in which Peter was to work out his
own salvation and the splendor of the immediate prospect uplifted him
with a sense of his personal importance in the new scheme of things of
which this was a part. He hadn't the slightest doubt that he would be
able to succeed in the work for which he had been recommended, for apart
from his music--which had taken so many of his hours--there was nothing
that he knew more about or loved better than the trees. He had provided
himself the afternoon before with two books by American authorities and
other books and monographs were to be forwarded to his new address.

As he descended the stairs and reached the main floor of the station,
his glance caught the gaze of a man staring at him intently. The man was
slender and dark, dressed decently enough in a gray suit and soft hat
and wore a small black mustache. All of these facts Peter took note of
in the one glance, arrested by the strange stare of the other, which
lingered while Peter glanced away and went on. Peter, who had an
excellent memory for faces, was sure that he had never seen the man
before, but after he had taken a few steps, it occurred to him that in
the stranger's eyes he had noted the startled distention of surprise and
recognition. And so he stopped and turned, but as he did so the fellow
dropped his gaze suddenly, and turned and walked away. The incident was
curious and rather interesting. If Peter had had more time he would have
sought out the fellow and asked him why he was staring at him, but
there were only a few moments to spare and he made his way out to the
concourse where he found his gate and descended to his train. Here he
ensconced himself comfortably in the smoking car, and was presently shot
under the Hudson River (as he afterwards discovered) and out into the
sunshine of the flats of New Jersey.

He rolled smoothly along through the manufacturing and agricultural
districts, his keenly critical glances neglecting nothing of the waste
and abundance on all sides. He saw, too, the unlovely evidences of
poverty on the outskirts of the cities, which brought to his mind other
communities in a far country whose physical evidences of prosperity were
no worse, if no better, than these. Then there came a catch in his
throat and a gasp which left him staring but seeing nothing. The feeling
was not nostalgia, for that far country was no home for him now. At last
he found himself muttering to himself in English,