Bessie and Zara were in the last car of the train, and they could look back as it sped away. "See, Zara, he's standing there, waving his arms and shaking his fist at us," she said. "He can't hurt us that way, Bessie. Well, all I hope is that we've seen the last of him. Is it true that he can't touch me except in this state?" "That's what Wanaka said, Zara. And she must know." Then the conductor came around. "We didn't get our tickets, so here's the money," said Bessie. "We want to get to Pine Bridge." "You didn't have much more time than you needed to catch this train," said the conductor, as he took the money. "Pine Bridge, eh? That's our first stop. You can't make any mistake." "How soon do we cross the state line, Mr. Conductor?" asked Zara, anxiously. The conductor looked out of the window. "Right now," he said. "See that white house there? Well, that's almost on the line. The house is in one state, and the stable's in the other. Why are you so interested in that?" He looked at them in sudden suspicion. "Here, was that your father who was so wild because he didn't catch the train? Were you running away from him?" Bessie's heart sank. She wondered if the conductor, should be really be suspicious, could make them go back, or keep them from getting off the train at Pine Bridge. "No, he wasn't any relative of ours at all," she said. "Seems to me he was shouting about you two, though," said the conductor. "Hey, Jim!" He called the brakeman. "Say, Jim, didn't it look to you like that hayseed was trying to stop these two from gettin' aboard instead of tryin' to catch the train himself?" "Never thought of that," said Jim, scratching his head. "Guess maybe he was, though. Maybe we'd better send 'em back from Pine Bridge." "That's what I'm thinking," said the conductor. "We've paid our fare. You haven't any right to do that," said Bessie, stoutly, although she was frightened. "And I tell you that man isn't our father. He hasn't got anything to do with us--" "He seemed to think so, and I believe that was why you came running that way to catch the train, without any tickets. You say he's not your father. Who is he? Do you know him at all?" Bessie wished she could say that she did not; wished she could, truthfully, deny knowing Farmer Weeks at all. But not even to avert what looked like a serious danger would she lie. "Yes, we know him," she said. "He's a farmer from Hedgeville. And--" "Hedgeville, eh? What's his name?" "Weeks--Silas Weeks." The effect of the name was extraordinary. Conductor and brakeman doubled up with laughter, and for a moment, while the two girls stared, neither of them could speak at all. Then the conductor found his voice. "Oh, ho-ho," he said, still laughing. "I wouldn't have missed that for a week's pay! If I could only have seen his face! Don't you worry any more! We'll not send you back to him, even if you were running from him. Don't blame anyone for tryin' to get away from that old miser!"