The whistle blew, the train slackened its speed, then came to a stand-still at a little country station.
“Peaches! apples! pears!”
A boy had come in with a basket of fruit on his arm.
Mr. Kemper bought liberally of him; then selecting a gold half-eagle from the contents of his purse, he dropped it into Floy’s hand, saying, “There’s a trifle for you. I wonder how long it will be before you spend it.”
“A good while, papa, if you keep me in greenbacks enough to supply my wants,” she returned gayly, as she deposited it in a dainty portemonnaie. “Thanks for the gift; I’ll be sure to think of you when I look at it.”
“Better put it in bank along with the rest; there’s five hundred dollars there now to your credit.”
“Then I can afford to keep this to look at.”
The smile died on her lips almost before the words left them.
“Something’s wrong with the engine,” a voice was saying behind her. “Nobody knows how long we’ll have to stop here, and we’re not up to time by half an hour. Hark! what’s that? Another train coming! we shall be run into!”