the expected tirade, put his head down again and went on quietly writing.

The Lizard was compelled, of course, to stand silently at the position of attention until addressed. He could feel the drops

the little old hamlet heard the news of his being in the guard-house, and of how he could no more hold up his head among the short-timers* and declare with a swagger that he had never been in the mill. He

heard his counsel defending him against a drowsy court that had already made up its mind. Several sparrows in the eaves outside were chirping and he envied them. He pictured himself with the other prisoners awaiting his sentence, and working all the while on the loathsome task of hauling garbage, with the corporal occasionally passing him on the road taunting him with an "I told you so."

The latter thought made him stiffen. "What's the use?" he said to himself. "I'll get through with it and begin over. Other fellows have done it, and I guess I can." The old impulse of putting his shoulder to the wheel came back to him, and he had settled his mind to the worst, when the general put his pen down on the blotter, leaned back in his chair, and looked the Lizard in the eye.

That crestfallen culprit then understood the classification, Particular Hell; for he was met with such a look of trenchant inspection that his nervous system was cleft from head to foot. The perspiration began to be a deluge. He had never fainted in his life, but the room seemed to be rocking, the windows seesawing, and the world of substance floating out from under him. In the midst of his careening senses he heard a voice intone "Taggerty," and by a vigorous effort he pulled himself upright and stood once more perpendicular to the floor.

The general was saying: "I have here some very grievous charges against you -I am inclined to think you know something of the contents of these papers, which were handed me by a lieutenant of your organization." Again he paused, toying with the documents, while a distant typewriter and a near-by clock vied with each other in loud ticks through several eternities.

"Let me see, Taggerty, if I remember correctly you have a story, a very picturesque story with a dash of local color in it, perhaps. I am very fond of good stories. It is possible you would like to relate yours now."

The Lizard tried to speak, but nothing vocal came forth.

"I wish to impress upon you, sir," the general went on, changing his manner to that of cold directness, "the seriousness

of this testimony against you. You could be tried in a civilian court for disturbing the peace. From a court martial you could receive as great a sentence as, let me see" (he reached over to a revolving bookcase and, after wheeling it about in no great hurry, selected a small black book), "you could receive as much aslet me see as much as dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of all pay and allowances, and confinement at hard labor for three months."

He turned in his swivel-chair and looked out of the window. For some time he was lost in contemplation.

Suddenly he wheeled about and faced the victim. "Do you know anything about horses?"

The Lizard was nonplussed, but managed to stammer out something about having been brought up with them.

"That being the case," the general continued, "I have made up my mind. What you need is employment and plenty of it. To-morrow morning at seven o'clock you will report to me at my quarters as my personal orderly. The order detailing you on such duty will be published at once. That will do."

The Lizard reeled out of the office like one who has just been grazed by the limited express. But he reported the next morning, and many mornings. "In fact there was not one split second all day long," he shortly after confided to one of his former companions, "when the general didn't have something for me to do or read. For the first time in my life I was glad to go to bed at night."

Three years the Lizard toiled. When his taskmaster at the end of that period departed to a home station in the States, he went back to "straight duty" with his company. In his pocket he carried a brief but pointed letter of commendation. Two weeks after his return he was promoted to the grade of corporal.

The name of Lizard, under the usual treatment of soldiers, soon transformed itself into Wizard.

Those of his time yet tell how his rise was the quickest of any on record, but "Top" Sergeant Taggerty smiles vaguely whenever the subject is mentioned and says it was like a mud-pop.

XXXI

THE END OF A JOURNEY

N the city from which Susan Herkimer ran away there is a large area which is wind-swept in winter and assaulted by the blistering sun in summer; where scores of railroad tracks lie side by side, and where many men and tremendous forces are in action throughout the entire twenty-four hours of every day. That area is known as the railroad yards. In winter trains coming into the yards from the north bear testimony to their travels in the form of heaps of snow on their roofs; and these come to stand side by side with other cars, without reminders of winter, which have threaded their way into the city from the south.

In summer the heat dances on steel and cinders, and men in jumpers and overalls all but perish under the searching eye of the sun. And always there is the movement of colored automatic signal-lights, and the noise of locomotives starting with their loads, or the waning of steam voices when the journey is done, and of bells and whistles in a fierce, endless symphony.

To this place, on a summer evening when the wind blew fairly cool, a freighttrain entered, by the usual process of many backward and forward movements and countless jolts and bumps, before the allotted track was reached. And when at last the long line of cars came to a standstill, and the locomotive had puffed and jangled away to some region especially its own, the side door of one of the ochrecolored cars was pushed open, and a much-begrimed man looked out.

Then he turned toward the interior of the car and spoke: "Here's where we get off," he said. By a heroic effort he made his tone whimsical, even humorous.

A woman with her hair escaping from its fastenings and her dress dripping cinders and dust like water, appeared at his side.

After the long day of heat and confusion and weariness, throughout the larger part of which there had been no opportunity to escape from their car, Mann and Susan had reached the end of their journey.

During the late afternoon Mann had been studying a thousand aspects-of topography, of painted legends here and there, or architecture; and he knew that he and his companion were returning to the city where Susan longed to be again. They had been without food or drink during the long summer day, and the rough motion of the car had been a great trial to Susan; but now another phase of their

troubles was ended.

Mann climbed stiffly down to the cindered earth and looked alertly up and down the tracks to be sure that yardmen or train-crews were nowhere about. Then he extended his arms toward Susan.

With his aid she sprang to the ground; and when he released her he greeted her cheerfully: "Welcome to our city!"

"What city?" questioned Susan. He had not told her.

"I think you ought to be satisfied with any city, after what you've gone through. Look about you and see if you can't tell where you are."

Susan looked at him eagerly. "It can't be-" she began. "Of course not. I'm sure I've come a thousand miles, at least."

"No, we haven't. Freight-trains don't move that fast. As the crow flies we've come less than a hundred miles, though of course we didn't come in a regular crow-like manner."

Susan lifted her eyes to the horizon. "Oh," she complained, "I'm all turned

around! But that looks like the big shot-tower"-she pointed-"and that looks like the cross on St. John's, and that ought to be the Union Station. Only, they're all in the wrong direction."

"They'll seem to you in the right direction after a while," Mann assured her. "Yes, we're home."

She stood for an instant, trying to get her bearings. It seemed almost too good to be true that in one day's time she had covered a distance which had seemed almost interminable when she was running away.

66

'You know they'd say we have no business here in the yards," said Mann. "We might be arrested-even though we're not in the country." He smiled faintly. "Come, let's get out."

By a devious route which was not without its dangers he led her over rails and around cars until they were under an immense concrete viaduct, over which the evening procession of vehicles and streetcars and pedestrians was passing. By a workmen's path they ascended a steep bank near the end of the viaduct; and then there was an iron fence to surmount -and then they were on a public thoroughfare, surrounded by scores of hurrying people, most of whom did not notice them at all, while only a few cast in their direction mildly curious glances.

Susan's eyes were soft with gratitude when she looked up at her companion. "Isn't it a blessed thing to be where people don't pay any attention to you?" she asked.

"I suppose it depends a good deal on your mood," said Mann.

And then Susan exclaimed, "I'm thirsty!" They had taken their places in the long procession of human beings and dumb beasts and vehicles crossing the viaduct. A train came thundering by beneath them, sending a spray of fine cinders and a pall of smoke into the air.

"I know you are," said Mann. And presently he checked her progress by placing a hand on her arm. "Look!" he said.

Workmen had left a barrel of water on the viaduct, where they had evidently been engaged in making repairs.

They approached this.

"There doesn't seem to be any cup," said Susan.

"I believe you're right," agreed Mann, who had looked into the barrel. Then in a very casual tone he addressed a passing laborer who carried a tin lunch-bucket with a coffee-cup by way of top. "Could we borrow the cup a minute?" asked Mann; and he was thankful that the laborer comprehended instantly, and removed the cup and filled it, and offered it to Susan with the manner of one who serves gladly, even if the fates have decreed that he must serve humbly.

"I thank you," said Susan. She looked twice at the man. It seemed good to see his kind again.

They proceeded on their way, then, Susan implicitly looking to Mann for guidance. She seemed bewildered, helpless.

"We'll have to walk, I'm afraid," he said. "I seem to have forgotten my purse." She saw the edges of his yellow mustache lift; but she also observed with a little shock that he looked tired and dispirited.

"It's only about two miles to Pleasant Lane from here," he added, "if you can keep up that far. I suppose that's where you want to go?"

"I can," replied Susan; "and it is." "Do you like walking here better than you did in the neighborhood of Quitman?"

"Please don't!" implored Susan. "We've been such friends. I don't want you to make me think of vexing things, now that we're getting close to the end.'

They walked in silence, then: through second-rate streets lined with mean shops and saloons, and dismal houses in front of which groups of poor people sought the fresh air. Then of a sudden Susan stopped and put her hand to her head. She had the sensation, for an instant, of being the pivot around which the whole world was revolving. In another moment she smiled. "I'm all right now," she cried. "I know just where I am." "You're turned around right," commented Mann.

"That's it."

"But I suppose I'd better go with you a little farther?" He put the question almost casually.

"Yes, perhaps a little farther," responded Susan. She did not speak cor

dially. It was plain to her companion that she gave her consent uneasily.

And after a time Susan looked at him with shining eyes. They had just turned a corner. "This is Pleasant Lane!" she exclaimed.

"Yes," said Mann. "Yes, and I suppose I ought to say good-by here.'

He stopped.

Susan went on her way eagerly, her step as buoyant as that of a Highlander returning to his heather after years of travel far from home.

But before she had taken half a dozen steps she turned about, to observe that Mann was standing still, looking after her, his face flushed, his eyes sadly surprised.

She hurried back to him. A strange power was coming into her limbs, which had seemed so weary. "Oh, you mustn't notice what I do!" she cried imploringly. "I'm not myself just now. It's the excitement

"I know of course!" he assured her. He was thankful for that forlorn note in her voice.

She extended her hand, and he saw that it trembled. "Good-by," she said. "I hope-" she paused. Words seemed untrustworthy, inadequate, for the moment. "I hope you'll get along well and be happy," she said finally. "And good-by." She did not express a wish ever to see him again; yet clearly she took her eyes from him reluctantly.

Mann took her hand half-heartedly, almost absent-mindedly. "Good-by," he said. Then swiftly he brought both his hands together and clasped Susan's almost roughly. "Comrade!" he exclaimed joyously; and Susan saw that he was blushing in the old familiar way, somewhat like a wistful boy who goes hopefully afield, without quite knowing where he is going.

And so they parted.

When Susan came before the house from which she had run away her heart seemed bursting with excitement. Perhaps this was the greatest adventure of all --this coming back. Yet at the last minute she paused. How could she bear to face the landlady, who would be sure to

to the last detail, and who very probably would want to ask a lot of questions?

She tried to think of some way of entering the house without summoning any one. And while she hesitated she heard a

voice:

"Gosh all fish-hooks, look at her!" Then "Wait a minute and I'll come down."

She glanced up to a second-story window. Herkimer was looking down at her.

XXXII

A NEW WOMAN IN AN OLD PLACE

NEITHER spoke as they climbed the stairs: Herkimer stolidly, as if some slight, disturbing irregularity had been corrected; Susan on tiptoe, lest other roomers, hearing them, might emerge from their doors and see her in all her discomfort. She was greatly distressed by Herkimer's nonchalance, his stolidity. Surely he should have realized how eager she was to get into her room unobserved. She was thankful, at least, that he had nothing to say.

He preceded her into the room, and turned and looked at her; and somewhat slowly it dawned upon him that she was not quite the same woman that had gone out of that room only a little while ago. The fact struck him as a not wholly satisfactory one. He pondered an instant, and then he resumed his seat by the window. He meant to wait to hear what she would say-to see what she would do. Nothing in his manner could have been construed ever so slightly as a welcome. Perhaps he was somewhat disconcerted by her appearance, too. have been strange if he had marvelled at her coming back in this peculiarly unceremonious fashion.

It would not

However, Susan scarcely noted the omission of a welcome. Just inside the door she stopped. Her eyes roved over the room with a kind of startled inquiry. Then, slowly, she lost something of that eagerness that had come into her mind and heart the moment she entered Pleasant Lane. Her thought was that the room had changed. Yet she perceived that nothing was really changed-not so much as a single detail.