"This is more of an adventure than ever," thought Bessie, as she followed the big, burly guard. "What a kind man he is! Perhaps he has daughters of his own." And she thanked him so warmly and so prettily as he almost lifted her into the carriage, that he muttered, as he turned away: "That's a nice, pleasant little woman. I like that sort." The first-class compartment felt warm and snug. Its only tenant was a fair, pretty-looking girl, dressed very handsomely in a mantle trimmed with costly fur, and a fur-lined rug over her knees. "Oh, thank you! How good of you to come!" she exclaimed eagerly; and Bessie saw at once that she had been crying. "I was feeling so frightened and miserable all by myself. I got it into my head that another train would run into us, and I was quite in a panic until the guard assured me there was no danger. He told me that there was another young lady alone, and that he would bring her to me." "Yes, that was so nice of him; and of course it is pleasanter to be able to speak to somebody," returned Bessie cheerfully; "and it is so much warmer here." "Take some of my rug; I do not need it all myself; and we may as well be as comfortable as we can, under the miserable circumstances." "Well, do you know I think it might be worse?" "Worse! how can you talk so?" with a shudder. "Why, it can hardly be a great hardship to sit for another two hours in this nice warm carriage, with this beautiful rug to cover us. It certainly was a little dull and cold in the other compartment, and I longed to get out and have a game of snowballing to warm myself." But here her companion gave a little laugh. "What a funny idea! How could you think of such a thing?" And here she looked, for the first time, rather scrutinizingly at Bessie. Oh, yes, she was a lady--she spoke nicely and had good manners; but how very shabbily she was dressed--at least, not shabbily; that was not the right word--inexpensively would have been the correct term. Bessie's brown tweed had evidently seen more seasons than one; her jacket fitted the trim figure, but was not made in the last fashion; and the brown velvet on her hat was decidedly worn. How was the young lady to know that Bessie was wearing her oldest things from a sense of economy, and that her new jacket and best hat--a very pretty one--were in the neat black box in the luggage-van? Certainly the two girls were complete opposites. Bessie, who, as her brother Tom often told her, was no beauty, was, notwithstanding, a bright, pleasant-looking girl, with soft gray eyes that could express a great deal of quiet sympathy on occasions, or could light up with fun. People who loved her always said Bessie's face was better than a beautiful one, for it told nothing but the truth about itself. It did not say, "Come, admire me," as some faces say, but, "Come, trust me if you can."