"Well," returned James, "it isn't likely I'll forget you, and the madam will be giving me cause to remember you by tomorrow." When Jeanne was aboard the train and James, with a great big lump in his throat, had gulped out: "Good-by, Miss, and a pleasant journey to you," she yielded to the conductor as much as he wanted of her long yellow ticket. Unconsciously she imitated what she called "Aunt Agatha's carriage manner." When Mrs. Huntington rode in any sort of a vehicle, she always sat stiffly upright, presenting a most imposing exterior. Jeanne was a good many sizes smaller than Aunt Agatha, but she, too, sat so very primly that no stranger would have _thought_ of chucking her under the chin and saying: "Hello, little girl, where are _you_ going all by yourself?" Certainly no one had ever ventured to "chuck" Aunt Agatha. And then, remembering her other experience in a sleeper, Jeannette set about her preparations for bed, as sedately as any seasoned traveler. She did one unusual thing, however. Something that Aunt Agatha had _never_ done. As soon as the curtains had fallen about her, she drew from the top of her stocking a very small pasteboard box. The cover was dotted with small pin pricks. "I'm afraid," said Jeanne, eying this object, doubtfully, "this car is pretty warm. Maybe I'd better raise the cover just a little." She slept from eleven to four. Having no watch, she felt obliged, after that, to keep one drowsy eye on the scenery. She hoped she should be able to recognize Chicago when she saw it. Anyway, there was plenty of time, since she was to have breakfast on the train. Nobody seemed to be stirring. But _something_ had stirred. When Jeanne looked into the little box on the window sill it was empty. Making as little noise as possible, Jeanne searched every inch of her bed, her curtains, her clothes. She even looked inside her shoes. "Oh, Bayard Taylor!" she breathed, "I _trusted_ you." And then, Jeanne was seized by a horrible thought. "Goodness!" she gasped. "Suppose he's in somebody else's bed--they'd die of fright!" As soon as the other passengers began to stir, Jeanne hurriedly dressed herself. Then she pressed the bell-button in her berth. "Mr. Porter," said she, "I wish you would please be _very_ careful when you make this bed. I have lost something--you _mustn't_ step on it." "Yore watch, Miss? Yore pocketbook?" asked the solicitous porter. "No," returned Jeanne, a bit sheepishly, "just my pet snail." Happily, not very much later, the wandering snail was safely rescued from under the opposite berth. "Is this yere _bug_ what you-all done lost?" asked the porter, grinning from ear to ear as he restored Jeanne's property. "Well, I declare to goodness, I nevah did see no such pet as that befoh, in all mah born days." "I hope," said Jeanne, anxiously, "that I can buy a tiny scrap of lettuce leaf for his breakfast. I didn't have a chance to bring anything." CHAPTER XIX WITH THE ROSSITERS