" he said, "and some day--soon--I'll come for you. I love
you, girl. Don't forget."

There was a quick, impatient blast from the engine. The wheels creaked
against the rails. The train moved forward.

"Good night," he said. His hand reached over the railing and one of hers
fell into it. For a moment it lay hidden there, warm and tremulous. Then
his fingers released it and it fled to join its fellow at her breast.

"Good night--dear," he said again. "Remember!"

Then he dropped from the step. There was a long piercing wail of the
whistle that was smothered as the engine entered the snow-shed. The girl
on the platform stood motionless a moment. Then one of her hands dropped
from her breast, and with it came a faded spray of purple lilac. She
stepped quickly to the rail and tossed it back into the twilight. Wade
sprang forward, snatched it from the track and pressed it to his lips.
When the last car dipped into the mouth of the snow-shed he was still
standing there, gazing after, his hat in hand, a straight, lithe figure
against the starlit sky.

II.

Well down in the southeastern corner of New Hampshire, some twenty miles
inland from the sea, lies Eden Village. Whether the first settlers added
the word Village to differentiate it from the garden of the same name I
can't say. Perhaps when the place first found a name, over two hundred
years ago, it was Eden, plain and simple. Existence there proving
conclusively the dissimilarity between it and the original Eden, the New
England conscience made itself heard in Town Meeting, and insisted on
the addition of the qualifying word Village, lest they appear to be
practising deception toward the world at large. But this is only a
theory. True it is, however, that while Stepping and Tottingham and
Little Maynard and all the other settlements around are content to exist
without explanatory suffixes, Eden maintains and is everywhere accorded
the right to be known as Eden Village. Even as far away as Redding, a
good eight miles distant, where you leave the Boston train, Eden's
prerogative is known and respected.

Wade Herrick discovered this when, five years after our first glimpse of
him, he stepped from the express at Redding, and, bag in hand, crossed
the station platform and addressed himself to a wise-looking,
freckle-faced youth of fourteen occupying the front seat of a rickety
carryall.

"How far is it to Eden, son?" asked Wade.

"You mean Eden Village?" resp