At that moment the young fellow, although he was smiling brightly, was smothering a pang of regret, not at parting with the blue heron, which he really prized, but because his heart had gone out to the charming child, and she was about to leave him, without any certainty of their ever meeting again. While this thought was vaguely passing through his mind, the lady turned and said to him:
“I am going to Jackson Street, which I believe is uptown. Is there not a nearer station for that part of the city, than the lower one?”
“Certainly, you can stop at Gretna; the train will be there in a few minutes. You cross the river there, and the ferry-landing is at the foot of Jackson Street, where you will find carriages and horse-cars to take you where you wish to go, and you will save an hour.”
“I’m very glad of that; my friends are not expecting me, and I should like to reach them before dark. Is it far to the ferry?”
“Only a few blocks; you’ll have no trouble finding it,” and he was about to add, “Can’t I go with you and show you the way?” when the conductor flung open the door and bawled, “Grate-na! Grate-na! passengers for Grate-na!”
Before he could give expression to the request, the conductor had seized the lady’s satchel, and was hurrying them toward the door. When he reached the platform, the train had stopped, and they had already stepped off. For a moment, he saw them standing on the dusty road, the river and the setting sun behind them—the black-robed, graceful figure of the woman, and the fair-haired child with her violet eyes raised to his, while she clasped the little basket and smiled.
He touched his hat and waved his hand in farewell; the mother lifted her veil and sent him a sad good-by smile, and the child pressed her rosy fingers to her lips, and gracefully and gravely threw him a kiss. Then the train moved on; and the last he saw of them, they were walking hand in hand toward the river.
As the boy went back to his seat, he was reproaching himself for his neglect and stupidity. “Why didn’t I find out her name?—or the name of the people to whom she was going?—or why didn’t I go with her? It was too bad to leave her to cross alone, and she a stranger and looking so ill. She seemed hardly able to walk and carry her bag. I don’t see how I could have been so stupid. It wouldn’t have been much out of my way, and, if I’d crossed with them, I should have found out who they were. I didn’t want to seem too presuming, and especially after I gave the child the heron; but I wish I’d gone with them. Oh, she’s left something,” and in an instant he was reaching under the seat lately occupied by the object of his solicitude.
“It’s a book, ‘Daily Devotions,’ bound in russia, silver clasp, monogram ‘J. C.,’” he said, as he opened it; “and here’s a name.”