A switchman with a lantern was passing near the car, and Barclay called to him, "Is that headlight No.

2 ?" And when the man affirmed Barclay's theory, he asked, "How long does it take it to get down here ?" "Oh, she comes a-humming," replied the man.

"If she doesn't jump the track, she'll be down in eight minutes." Inside the car Barclay heard a watch snap, and knew that Lycurgus Mason didn't believe anything of the kind and proposed to get at the facts.

So Barclay sat down on the platform; but his mind went back to the old days, and the ride through the woods along the Sycamore that Sunday night in July came to him, with all its fragrance and stillness and sweetness.

He recalled that they came into the prairie just as the meadow-lark was crying its last plaintive twilight trill, and the western sky was glowing with a rim of gold upon the tips of the clouds.