CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SIX YEARS LATER.
The New York and Springfield train eastward bound stood waiting in the depot at New Haven. There had been a slight accident which occasioned a detention of several minutes, and taking advantage of this delay many of the passengers alighted to stretch their weary limbs or inhale a breath of purer air than could be obtained within the crowded car. Several seats were thus left unoccupied, one of which a tall, dark, foreign-looking man, with eyes concealed by a green shade, was about appropriating to himself, when a wee little hand was laid on his and a sweet baby voice called out,
"That's my mamma's chair, big man, mamma gone after cake for
Nina!"
The stranger started, and his face flushed with some strong emotion, while his hand rested caressingly upon the flowing curls of the beautiful three-years-old girl, as he asked,
"Who Is mamma, darling? What is her name, I mean?"
"I can tell that a heap better'n Kina," chimed in a boy of five, who was sitting just across the aisle, and joining the little girl, he continued, 'My mother is Edith, so Aunt Grace calls her, but father says Miggie most all the time.
The stranger sank into the seat, dizzy and faint with the mighty shock, for he knew now that Edith's children were standing them before him—that frank, fearless boy, and that sweet little girl, who, not caring to be outdone by her brother, said, in a half exultant way, as if it were something of which she were very proud,
"I've got an Uncle 'Ichard, I have, and he's tomin' home bime by."
"And going to bring me lots of things," interrupted the boy again,
"Marie said so."