the guard shut the door that I thought of it. You will
believe that, won't you?" he pleaded.

The dimple appeared suddenly in Peggy's cheek. There came an echo from
without of many footsteps.

"And so," she took up the tale quickly, "having nicely planned it all
out you shook me rudely to wake me up, told me the door was locked, and
that it was midnight when it was only four in the afternoon. And it
wasn't at all necessary to shake me so hard," she continued, "because I
woke up when you came in."

"Peggy you knew!" the voice cried with a sudden realization, "you knew
and you stayed!" He caught her hand, and in the darkness she could feel
his nearness. Then suddenly the door opened letting into the chapel a
flood of bright sunlight. "Ladies and gentlemen," the sonorous voice of
the old guard came to them, "this, in the words of Macaulay, is the
saddest spot on earth," continued the mournful recital, even as, in
happy contradiction, Peggy and her American, secure in their little
recess, looked blissfully into each other's eyes.

VII

SANKEY'S DOUBLE-HEADER

A Winter's Tale

By FRANK H. SPEARMAN

THE oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to say how long
Sankey had worked for the company. Pat Francis was a very old conductor;
but old man Sankey was a veteran when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey
ran a passenger train when Jimmie Brady was running--and Jimmie
afterward enlisted and was killed in the Custer fight.

There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was a tall, swarthy
fellow, and carried the blood of a Sioux chief in his veins. It was in
the time of the Black Hills excitement, when railroad men, struck by the
gold fever, were abandoning their trains even at way-stations and
striking across the divide for Clark's Crossing. Men to run the trains
were hard to get, and Tom Porter, trainmaster, was putting in every man
he could pick up without reference to age or color. Porter (he died at
Julesburg afterward) was a great "jollier," and he wasn't afraid of
anybody on earth. One day a war party of Sioux clattered into town and
tore around like a storm. They threatened to scalp everything, even to
the local tickets. They dashed in on Tom Porter, sitting in the
despatcher's office upstairs, while the despatcher was hiding below,
under a loose plank in the baggage-room floor. Tom, being bald as a
sand-hill, considered himself exempt from scalping parties anyway. He
was working a game of s