“Yes,” he replied, with a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes, “and if none of these men get out, I am afraid I shall have to claim your forbearance all night, but I will make myself as small as possible. Look,” and with a laugh he drew himself close to the arm of the seat, leaving quite a space between them; but he did not tell her that he had engaged a berth in the sleeper, which he had abandoned when he found her there alone, with that set of roughs, whose character he knew.
“Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these ye have done it unto me,” would surely be said to him some day, for he was always giving the cup of water, even to those who did not know they were thirsting until after they had drunk of what he offered them. Once he brought Maude some water in a little glass tumbler, which he took from his satchel, and once he offered her an apple which she declined lest she should seem too forward; then, as the hours crept on and her eyelids began to droop, he folded his shawl carefully and made her let him put it behind her head, suggesting that she remove her hat, as she would rest more comfortably without it.
“Now sleep quietly,” he said, and as if there were something mesmeric in his voice, Maude went to sleep at once and dreamed she was at home with her mother beside her, occasionally fixing the pillow under her head and covering her with something which added to her comfort.
It was the stranger’s light overcoat which, as the September night grew cold and chill, he put over the girl, whose upturned face he had studied as intently as she had studied his. About seven o’clock the conductor came in, lantern in hand, and as its rays fell upon the stranger, he said, “Hello, Gordon, you here? I thought you were in the sleeper. On guard, I see, as usual. Who is the lamb this time?”
“I don’t know; do you?” the man called Gordon replied.
“No,” the conductor said, turning his light full upon Maude; then, “Why, it’s a little girl the Boston conductor put in my care; but she’s safer with you. Comes from the mountains somewhere, I believe. Guess she is going to seek her fortune. She ought to find it, with that face. Isn’t she pretty?” and he glanced admiringly at the sweet young face now turned to one side, with one hand under the flushed cheek and the short rings of damp hair curling round her forehead.
“Yes, very,” Gordon replied, moving uneasily and finally holding a newspaper between Maude and the conductor’s lantern, for it did not seem right to him that any eyes except those of a near friend should take this advantage of a sleeping girl.
The conductor passed on, and then Gordon fell asleep until they reached a way station, where the sudden stopping of a train roused him to consciousness, and a moment after he was confronted by a young man, who, at sight of him, stopped short and exclaimed:
“Max Gordon, as I live! I’ve hunted creation over for you and given you up. Where have you been and why weren’t you at Long Branch, as you said you’d be when you wrote me to join you there?”
“Got tired of it, you were so long coming, so I went to the Adirondacks with Archie.”