He laid his square, firm little hand in Hugh’s.
“It was good of you to come,” returned Hugh. “What did your mother say about my going?”
“She didn’t say much,” Carl replied, “I think she had been crying.”
"Crying?” echoed Hugh; “why?” This seemed the most amazing thing of all the surprises that had come to him.
“I think she didn’t want you to go,” the little boy answered, “I don’t understand it. She doesn’t often cry.”
So there was more than one person who wanted him to help and was confident of his success. And even Half-Breed Jake and Laughing Mary seemed to feel that he was in some way involved in the matter. Should he go or stay? Time was passing.
The grinning porter looked at him doubtfully, then picked up his stool and climbed up the steps of the last car. The long train, with its shining brass rails, hooded vestibules and sleepy passengers peering from the windows, looked as though it had come from another world than this wild,
