"Your sentiment does you credit," he replied, gravely, and as the conductor approached, he held out his hand. "I pay for this little girl and her dog in the baggage-car."
"That's a fine hound you've got," the conductor observed, civilly, to 'Tilda Jane.
"Yes, sir," she replied, meekly. "I hope he ain't scared o' the train."
"He don't like it much, but some of the boys have been playing with him. Why—" and he drew back in surprise, "you're the obstinate young one I pointed out to the inspector the other day. Here—you needn't pay," and he put in her hand the money her new friend had just given him. "There was a great racket about you. You needn't have run away from Vanceboro—if you'd spoken the truth, you'd saved yourself and us a lot of trouble. However, I guess they'll be glad to hear you're all right."
"I'll be 'bliged if you'll give my respecks to Mr. Jack," she said, steadily.
"I'll do it," said the conductor, "and tell him you've picked up another dog," and with a wink at her companion, he passed on.
"Accep' my thanks," she said, after a time, handing the loose change in her lap to the lad.
"Keep it," he replied, generously. "I don't want it."
A grim flash like a streak of lightning passed over her dark face, and he added, hastily, "As a loan, of course. You may need money for your dogs. Old Hobart will begrudge them a bone, I assure you."