A minute after, Erma and Harry are on the platform and the man of the throttle-valve comes to them, carrying his little daughter, who looks pale, and has hungry eyes. Seeing her bounty, the engineer cries, "God bless you, miss." Then he mutters, "You'll rob yourself." "Oh, I've more left," answers Miss Travenion; "besides, she needs it," for the child has already gone to work ravenously on the fruit tarts. "God bless you, just the same," cries the engineer. "Thank the lady, Susie." But Susie, looking at her benefactress, forgets gratitude in admiration, and babbles, "Beau'ful, beau'ful," extending a fruity hand and putting up two lips embellished with jam. "Don't, she'll spoil your dress," says the father. But Erma has her already in her arms, giving the little one a kiss, and playing with her and doing some small things to make her happy. And doing small things for the baby does great things for herself, though she does not know it, for it gains the engineer's heart. The man wipes a grimy eye with a more grimy sleeve, and mutters, "I was afraid my little one would get sick from starving, and she's all that's left me of her mother, who's buried in Green River--God bless your kind heart and beautiful face, miss!" and so going away, spreads the news of the beautiful girl's bounty through the train. But this brings requests from other hungry ones to Miss Travenion, who has a little that they will eat--if she will give it them. Consequently, about five in the afternoon Lawrence, who does not know of this raid on his beloved's commissariat, and is in the smoking-car pondering over the problem whether the knowledge of the awful death to which Kruger had doomed and from which he had rescued her father, will not make Erma too anxious and too nervous about Ralph Travenion's further fate, finds himself disturbed by Mr. Powers. The boy comes hurriedly to him and says: "She ain't got nothin' to eat, and she's hungry." "What do you mean?" cries Harry. "Didn't you say that you had provisioned her for two days?" "Yes! but she's given it all away to the women in the way-cars." "No relief train yet?" "No, an' I don't see any chance of one." "Very well," remarks Lawrence, putting on his overcoat, "I'll see what I can do." He steps out of the car, and the best he can think of is to tramp to the telegraph station, and see if there is anything left there. It is over a mile and a half, but a beaten track has been pretty well made in the snow by the brakemen and conductor on some of their visits to that point, so he gets there in a little over half an hour. Here, the conductor is talking to the telegraph operator, and they seem to be excited over something. "What's the matter?" asks Harry. "Nothing, only the line's down between here and Evanston!" says the operator. "It was working twenty minutes ago, but I can't get the Evanston or any other Western office now." "What was the last news from there?"