"The train ahead of us is. We shall stay here until that gets through." "You seem very cheerful about it," she said, observing his expression. "Ah, I should think so!" His short lip curled in the first smile she had seen upon his strong, brooding face. She could not help smiling in response, but she felt bound to protest against his irresponsible view of the situation. "Have you so much time to spend upon the road? I thought the men of this country were always in a hurry." "It makes a difference where a man is going, and on what errand, and what fortune he meets with on the way. _I_ am not going to Volney." She did not understand his emphasis, nor the bearing of his words. His eyes dropped to her hands lying in her lap, still holding the glove she had been mending. "How nicely you do it! How can you take such little stitches without pricking yourself, when the train is going?" "It is my business to take little stitches. I don't know how to do anything else." "Do you mean it literally? It is your business to sew?" The notion seemed to surprise him. "No; I mean in a general sense. Some of us can do only small things, a stitch at a time,--take little steps, and not know always where they are going." "Is this a little step--to Volney?" "Oh, no; it is a very long one, and rather a wild one, I'm afraid. I suppose everybody does a wild thing once in a lifetime?" "How should _you_ know that?" "I only said so. I don't say that it is true." "People who take little steps are sometimes picked up and carried off their feet by those who take long, wild ones." "Why, what are we talking about?" she asked herself, in surprise. "About going to Volney, was it not?" he suggested. "What is there about Volney, please tell me, that you harp upon the name? I am a stranger, you know; I don't know the country allusions. Is there anything peculiar about Volney?" "She is a deep little innocent," he said within himself; "but oh, so innocent!" And again he appeared to gather himself in pained resistance to some thought that jarred with the thought of Phebe. He rose and bowed, and so took leave of her, and settled himself back into his corner, shading his eyes with his hand. He ate no luncheon, Phebe noticed, and he sat so long in a dogged silence that she began to cast wistful glances across the aisle, wondering if he were ill, or if she had unwittingly been rude to him. Any one could have shaken her confidence in her own behavior; moreover, she reminded herself, she did not know the etiquette of an overland train. She had heard that the Western people were very friendly; no doubt they expected a frank response in others. She resolved to be more careful the next time, if the moody young man should speak to her again.