Old Whitey was hitched at a safe distance from all possible harm. Uncle Ephraim had returned from the store nearby, laden with the six pounds of crush sugar and the two pounds of real old Java, he had been commissioned to purchase with a view to Katy's taste, and now upon the platform at West Silverton, he stood with Mark Ray, waiting for the arrival of the train just appearing in view across the level plain. "It's fifteen months since she went away," he said, and Mark saw that the old man's form trembled with the excitement of meeting her again, while his eyes scanned eagerly every window and door of the cars now slowly stopping before him. "There, there," and he laid his hand nervously on Mark's shoulder as a white, jaunty feather appeared in view; but no, that was not Katy, and the dim eyes ran again along the whole line of the cars, from which so many were alighting, for that was an eating house. But Katy did not come, and with a long breath of wonder and disappointment the deacon said: "Can it be she is asleep. Young man, you are spryer than I. Go through the cars and find her." Mark knew there was plenty of time, and so he made the tour of the cars, but found, alas! no Katy. "She's not there," was the report carried to the poor old man, who tremblingly repeated his words: "Not there, not come," while over his aged face there broke a look of touching sadness, which Mark never forgot, remembering it always just as he remembered the big tear drops which from his seat by the window he saw the old man wipe away with his coat sleeve, whispering softly to Whitey of his disappointment as he unhitched the horse and drove away alone. "Maybe she's writ. I'll go and see," he said, and driving to their regular office he found a letter directed by Wilford Cameron, but written by Katy. This last he knew, for he tore the envelope open; but he could not read it then, and thrusting it into his pocket he went slowly back to the home where the tempting dinner was prepared, and the family waiting so eagerly for him. Even before he reached there they knew of the disappointment, for from the garret window Helen had watched the road by which he would come, and when the buggy appeared in sight she saw he was alone. There was a mistake; Katy had missed the train, she said to her mother and aunts, who hoped she might be right. But Katy had not missed the train, as was indicated by the letter which Uncle Ephraim without a word put into Helen's hand, leaning on old Whitey's neck while she read aloud the attempt at an explanation which Katy had hurried written, a stain on the paper where a tear had fallen attesting her distress at the bitter disappointment.