"Papa," said Marjorie, as she lay holding his hand as he sat beside her that afternoon, after she had thanked him for his beautiful birthday present, "papa, you're not going to bring anybody here to take mamma's place, are you?"
"No, my pet," replied Mr. Mason, as he bent and kissed her cheek. "Nobody in the world can ever do that; but nobody in the world can come so near it as her dear little daughter."
[LAURIE VANE, BRAKEMAN.]
BY MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL.
Mudhole Junction was a desolate place enough, especially on winter nights, when the wind roared through the mountain gorges, and an occasional fierce, despairing shriek from a passing locomotive waked the wild echoes among the granite peaks. But Blundon, the station-master, and Laurie Vane, the bright-eyed young fellow from the East, who lived in the little shanty a quarter of a mile off had a soft spot in their hearts for Mudhole Junction, and with reason. Both of them had found health and strength in the high, pure altitude, and each had also found a friend in the other. Blundon often wondered why a young fellow of nineteen should be living up there, apparently as much cut off from the human species, other than the Mudhole Junctionites, as though he belonged to another planet. But seeing the boy was perfectly correct in every way, and Blundon himself having the soul of a gentleman, and above asking questions, Laurie Vane was not bothered to give explanations.
One autumn night, about a year after Laurie's advent, he and the station-master were spending quite a hilarious evening together in the little station-house. A fire roared on the hearth, and some malodorous cheese, a plate of crackers, and a pitcher of eider were on the table. On one side of the fire sat Blundon, grizzled and round-shouldered, but with a world of good sense in his well-marked face; on the other side sat Laurie, a red fez set sideways on his curly head, and his guitar across his knees.
"Talk about your spectacular shows," said Laurie, softly thrumming "In Old Madrid," on the guitar, "I don't know anything quite up to that ten-o'clock express on a wild night like this. When she rushes out of the black mouth of the tunnel for that straight stretch of three miles down here, and flies past, hissing and screaming, with one great glaring eye blazing in the darkness, she looks more like one of the dragons of hell than anything I can imagine. It's worth more than many a show I've paid two dollars and a half to see."
Blundon smiled at this as he answered: