ntleman who had just helped two ladies to alight from the steps
of a parlor car called to her and began to fumble in his pockets for
the right change.

"Blackberries! blackberries!" sang another voice mockingly. This time
it came from a roguish-looking child, hanging half-way out of a window
in the next car. He was a little fellow, not more than three years
old. His hat had fallen off, and his sunny tangle of curls shone
around a face so unusually beautiful that both ladies uttered an
exclamation of surprise.

"Look, papa! Look, Mrs. Estel!" exclaimed the younger of the two. "Oh,
isn't he a perfect picture! I never saw such eyes, or such delicate
coloring. It is an ideal head."

"Here, Grace," exclaimed her father, laughingly. "Don't forget your
berries in your enthusiasm. It hasn't been many seconds since you were
going into raptures over them. They certainly are the finest I ever
saw."

The girl took several boxes from her basket, and held them up for the
ladies to choose. Grace took one mechanically, her eyes still fixed on
the child in the window.

"I'm going to make friends with him!" she exclaimed impulsively.
"Let's walk down that way. I want to speak to him."

"Blackberries!" sang the child again, merrily echoing the cry that
came from the depths of the big sunbonnet as it passed on.

Grace picked out the largest, juiciest berry in the box, and held it
up to him with a smile. His face dimpled mischievously, as he leaned
forward and took it between his little white teeth.

"Do you want some more?" she asked.

His eyes shone, and every little curl bobbed an eager assent.

"What's your name, dear," she ventured, as she popped another one into
his mouth.

"Robin," he answered, and leaned farther out to look into her box. "Be
careful," she cautioned; "you might fall out."

He looked at her gravely an instant, and then said in a slow, quaint
fashion: "Why, no; I can't fall out, 'cause big brother's a holdin' on
to my feet."

She drew back a little, startled. It had not occurred to her that any
one else might be interested in watching this little episode. She gave
a quick glance at the other windows of the car, and then exclaimed:
"What is it, papa,--a picnic or a travelling orphan asylum? It looks
like a whole carload of children."

Yes, there they were, dozens of them, it seemed; fair faces and
freckled ones, some dimpled and some thin; all bearing the marks of a
long journey on soot-streaked featu