On the fly-leaf of each was written in Aunt Ruth's round cramped hand, "Marian Chester:" "The Lord bless thee and keep thee." "Dear aunt Ruth," she murmured. "What would she say if she knew where I am? And what will they think at home?" She just began to realize how forlorn and lonely she was, and actually two large tears stood on her cheeks. Mr. Lynde was returning from one of his visits to the engine, and was just in time to catch, for an instant, the flash of that tear. A smile was a hollow thing to him. His coat of mail was proof against a whole battalion of the most bewitching; but a tear! He bowed in reverence before a tear; and, acting on that impulse, paused, and before he had given himself leave to speak was saying, "I beg your pardon, but can I do anything for you?" Poor Marian! It was so sudden, and she was so mortified to be caught crying like a baby, that her tones were defiant and her answer curt: "No, sir, I thank you, not anything." When she raised her eyes he was gone. Then, her sense of desolation was lost in vexation, that she had made herself an object of pity to him and requited his attempt at kindness by what must have seemed extreme rudeness. The rained had ceased, but this was not an advantage in one way, for the air at once became intensely cold, so making it more difficult to repair damages, as washouts and bridges swept from swollen streams were reported ahead. As if to bring dreariness to a culminating point, the supply of coal was low and the cars were becoming chilly. Adversity was apparently having a good effect upon Mr. Lynde; he was developing under it, and waking up to some interest in humanity that was not in a book. He was not in general a close observer of the dress of ladies, but he knew the difference between a long sealskin cloak and an old black cashmere shawl. Consequently he was very sure where the large, soft lap robe he carried was most needed. Thereupon he took it over to the old lady, and begged her with as much deference as if she had been a duchess, to accept it. She demurred, but he insisted and folded it about her as a son might have done, and the lines about his mouth relaxed into sweetness as she showered her thanks upon him. "Why did I not think to do that?" Marian said to herself, casting regretful eyes on her own warm shawl. It was too late now, so she drew it over herself and retired into her book. Aunt Ruth spoke better than she knew when she talked of food for the soul. Some darkened minds would call it "cant," but those who know the secret of the Lord, know that as a few drops of stimulant revive a fainting body, just as surely will a strong, comforting word from the Scriptures send the lifeblood tingling again through a benumbed soul, if that soul belong to Christ. So when Marian read in her "Daily Food":— "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms;" "The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them;"