such a dress before. I
started up, and as I did so MacCoy recognized me. He said something,
the conductor slammed the door, and they were shown into the next
compartment. I tried to stop the train so as to follow them, but the
wheels were already moving, and it was too late.

"When we stopped at Willesden, I instantly changed my carriage. It
appears that I was not seen to do so, which is not surprising, as the
station was crowded with people. MacCoy, of course, was expecting me,
and he had spent the time between Euston and Willesden in saying all he
could to harden my brother's heart and set him against me. That is
what I fancy, for I had never found him so impossible to soften or to
move. I tried this way and I tried that; I pictured his future in an
English gaol; I described the sorrow of his mother when I came back
with the news; I said everything to touch his heart, but all to no
purpose. He sat there with a fixed sneer upon his handsome face, while
every now and then Sparrow MacCoy would throw in a taunt at me, or some
word of encouragement to hold my brother to his resolutions.

"'Why don't you run a Sunday-school?' he would say to me, and then, in
the same breath: 'He thinks you have no will of your own. He thinks
you are just the baby brother and that he can lead you where he likes.
He's only just finding out that you are a man as well as he.'

"It was those words of his which set me talking bitterly. We had left
Willesden, you understand, for all this took some time. My temper got
the better of me, and for the first time in my life I let my brother
see the rough side of me. Perhaps it would have been better had I done
so earlier and more often.

"'A man!' said I. 'Well, I'm glad to have your friend's assurance of
it, for no one would suspect it to see you like a boarding-school
missy. I don't suppose in all this country there is a more
contemptible-looking creature than you are as you sit there with that
Dolly pinafore upon you.' He coloured up at that, for he was a vain
man, and he winced from ridicule.

"'It's only a dust-cloak,' said he, and he slipped it off. 'One has to
throw the coppers off one's scent, and I had no other way to do it.'
He took his toque off with the veil attached, and he put both it and
the cloak into his brown bag. 'Anyway, I don't need to wear it until
the conductor comes round,' said he.

"'Nor then, either,' said I, and taking the bag I slung it with all my
forc