The three men looked at her for a minute, as if a magnet held them. Then the crowd, pouring out of the express, bore down upon them and swept them along. Tomlinson climbed back to his place in the cab, watching the two men until they were lost to sight in the jostling, hurrying throng. The express was a long one and the crowd streamed past... pushing, laughing... voices called... cramped limbs stretched themselves after the long ride and hurried a little; the platform resounded to light steps. The engineer of the express leaned from his window, on folded arms, looking down. He was a quiet man with thoughtful eyes and a serious face.... The eyes raised themselves and looked across at Tomlinson--above the heads of the happy, hurrying crowd--a straight, slow glance. Then he lifted his hand to him--the sign of the brotherhood--as one who salutes an equal. And Tomlinson lifted his hand in return. Simeon emerged from the wicket gate, looking about with happy glance. The popcorn boy, scurrying to his place, the lights flaring and blazing, cabmen shouting--it was beautiful-all of it. He fell into the old, brisk walk and John, hurrying beside him, could hardly keep pace with it... . Joy was everywhere tonight--sound and bustle and quick-moving crowd. The nervous, hurrying frame vibrated to the city as a child to its mother’s touch, or the heart to music.... He was back among his own--exile was done.... They pressed upon him--past him--around him. He jostled elbows, and was glad. He could have stretched out his hands to them--every one. The grasp of the old Scotchman’s fingers lingered with him still--It crept np his arm in tiny thrills and warmed his heart. He must do something better for Tomlinson. There was strength in the old man still--with a grip like that! He rubbed his hand and shook his fingers a little ruefully at the very thought of it. How the old fellow had loomed--there on the platform--tall and grim! Then--in a flash--he saw him... in the green room, his head lifted high, his face stem... the very scent of the room was in the vision, pungent and fresh. He drew a quick breath and threw back his head with a little impatient gesture. “I shall never get out of those woods,” he said. “I can smell them--yet! lean smell them here.”... The boy glanced at him with swift twinkle. “Look behind you, sir.” Simeon flashed back a quick look. Behind them was the porter, laden with bags and mgs. and bundles, and on his great shoulders the green branches swayed and nodded as he moved. They framed the big face with its gleaming smile--like some grotesque, dark-skinned dryad in the smoky station. Simeon’s eye sought the boy’s--a little anxiously, it seemed, “Going to trim the office?” he said. He laughed back. “I ’m carrying them home to her.” He called a carriage, and the porter stowed away the boxes and bags and mgs, piling the mass of pine and spruce on the seat in front of them till the carriage was filled with its subtle fragrance.