whole, Tommy takes
precedence."

"Ever find out where the dog came from?"

"No; and that's not all, Bill--I don't want to. All right, young man,
let's get back home."

Frank sprang out of the door and ran for the buggy. His fears had
vanished with the turning of his back on this reminder of things past.
But when Earle and Tommy did not follow, he came dejectedly back. Tommy
wanted to wait and see the train; he had never seen but one, he
pleaded--that was a "fate" train. Far down the track a fateful whistle
blew. Above them, the semaphore dropped with a clang.

"Come, F'ank!" shouted Tommy, dancing with excitement.

On the platform the boy took firm hold of providence as represented by
Steve Earle's big forefinger with one hand and clutched the dog's mane
with the other, lest the "suction" all children fear draw him under the
grinding wheels. He felt the solid earth under his feet tremble as the
great hissing engine rolled between him and the sun, the rod rising and
falling on the terrible wheels, the engineer high above in a window.
Then the long black baggage car--and in the door a man in a cap, who
looked at them with open mouth as if he knew suddenly who they were. As
the train stopped, the baggageman jumped to the ground and came running
back to Earle, all out of breath.

"That your dog?" he demanded.

"Sure, he's my dog!"

"Where'd you get him?"

The wrinkles in the corner of Earle's eye came close together.

"Is that any of your affair?"

But the baggageman smiled ingratiatingly, like a man who wanted to be
friends.

"Tell you why I ask," he explained. "I lost that dog on my old run with
the Coast Line. Owners sued the road. Road came back on me--said I had
no business accepting him without a crate. Had to hunt a new job----"

"Oh, come off!" interrupted Earle. "The Coast Line's a hundred miles
east."

"Can't help it. That's the dog. Watch him. Commere--Commere, Dan. See?
Knows me. Ever see the beat of that? I'm sorry, mister--but--if you
don't mind--what's your name and address?"

Earle had turned, and was looking at the dog under the truck. Then
without a word he gave his name. The baggageman wrote it hastily in a
notebook. The bell began to ring. The baggageman started away running.

"That's what I call white, Mr. Earle!" he called as he swung aboard,
waving his hand back at them like a man unaccountably happy and
relieved.

Earle looked down. Tommy noticed that his mouth was grim.

"Co