In another week they landed at New York, and each went her own way. Signe Dahl took the first train for Chicago. VII. "The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away."--_Job 1:22_. The news startled the young city of Willowby from the Honorable Mayor to the newest comer in the place. The railroad company had found a shorter route to its northern main line, and it had been decided to remove, or, at least, to abandon for a time, the road running through the valley. The short cut would save fifty miles of roadbed and avoid some heavy grades, but it would leave the town of Willowby twenty-five miles from the railroad. Everybody said it would be a death-blow to the place. Petitions and propositions from the citizens to the railroad company availed nothing. The most diresome predictions came true. After the change, the life of the young town seemed to wither away. Its business almost ceased. The speculator whose tenement houses were without roof, hurriedly closed them in, and so let them stand. Safer is the farmer, in such times. His fields will still yield the same, let stocks and values in real estate rise and fall as they will. Alderman Rupert Ames had been attending the protracted meetings of the city council; this, with other business, kept him away from home for a week. This was the explanation which he gave to his mother when he at last came home. "Rupert," she said to him, "you must not worry so. I see you are sick--you're as pale as death now. Is there anything the matter, my boy?" Rupert seated himself on the sofa, resting his face in his hands, and looked into the fire. He was haggard and pale. "Mother--yes, mother, something's the matter but I cannot tell you, I cannot tell you." The mother sank beside him. "Rupert, what is it, are you sick?" "No, dear mother, I'm not sick--only at heart." He put his arms around her neck and resting his head on her shoulder, began to sob. It had been a long time since she had seen her boy shed tears. "Mother," he sprang to his feet and forced himself to talk, "I must tell you. The bank has failed and--and--I have not always told you of my business transactions, mother. I now owe more than we are worth in this world. I have been investing in real estate. I paid a big price for the Riverside Addition, and the paper I asked you to sign was a mortgage on the farm to secure a loan. Mother, I thought it was a good investment, and it would have been had the railroad remained, but now property has sunk so low that all we own will not pay my debts. And the bank has failed also--O mother!" "My son, do not carry on like that. If the worst comes, we still have the farm, haven't we?" "You do not understand, mother; our creditors can take that, too."