I was feeling quite pleased with myself. She suddenly turned. "Are you the brakeman?" "No, I am not." I could scarcely help laughing at my sudden fall. "But perhaps I can serve you?" I added. "Oh! I beg pardon! No, I thank you. I only wanted to ask--However, it is nothing." Dix had, on being let out, and satisfying himself that I was coming along, made a wild dash down the bank and alongside the train, and now on his return rush, catching sight of the young lady in her fresh frock, without waiting for the formality of an introduction, he made a dash for her and sprang up on her as if he had known her all his life. I called to him, but it was too late, and before I could stop him, he was up telling her what after my first look at her I should have liked to tell her myself: what a sweet charming creature we thought her. Dixie had no scruples of false pride inculcated by a foolish convention of so-called society. He liked her and said so, and she liked him for it, while I was glad to shine for a moment in the reflected glory of being his master. "What a fine dog!" she exclaimed as she patted him, addressing the children, who, with soiled clothes and tousled heads, were gazing at the spick-and-span apparition in open-mouthed wonder. "How I envy you such a dog." "He ain't ours, he belongs to him," said the child, pointing to me, as I stooped at a little distance pretending to pull blossoms while I listened. "Oh! Who is he? Is he your father?" My face was averted. "Oh! no. We don't know who he is; he just took us so." "Took you so?" "You see," explained the next older one, "our mother, she's got the baby and Janet, and the gentleman, he said he would take us and get some wild flowers, because we hadn't had any breakfast, and that dog"--But the dog was forgotten on the instant. "Have not had any breakfast!" exclaimed the young lady with astonishment. "No; you see, we had some bread last night, but that's given out. _She_ ate the last piece last night--" (she pointed at the smallest child)--"and we were so hungry; she cried, and Mamma cried, and that gentleman----" By this time I had turned and I now stepped forward. I confess, that as I turned, wrath was in my heart, but at sight of that horrified face, in its sympathy, my anger died away. "Oh! and to think what I wasted! How did it happen?" "The train was late and they had expected to get in to breakfast, but the engine gave out," I explained. "And they have not had any breakfast?" "No one on the train." "You see," chimed in the oldest girl, glad to be able to add information, "the train's heavy anyway, and they put a private car on, and it was more than the engine could pull, that's all that's the matter." The young lady turned to me: "Do you mean that our car has caused all this trouble?" I nodded. "I don't know about 'all,' but it helped."