“I always tell folks,” put in my grandmother, “that, if there wer’n’t no partin’s, there’d be no meetin’s. It’s just come and go in this life. If he don’t want you, my dear, don’t bother ’im.” “But he does want me,” Ruthita persisted. “I’ve always seen him off. I used to run beside the trap till I was ready to drop when Uncle Obad drove him away to the Red House. He’s only making fun.” “No, really, Ruthie, I’d much rather say good-by to you here in the shop.” “If you’re going to catch the six-thirty-eight, you’ll have to run,” said my grandmother. Ruthita looked hurt. She could not understand me. She felt that something was wrong. I picked up my bag. They hurriedly embraced and followed me out on to the pavement to watch me down the road. I looked back. There they stood waving and crying after me, “Good-by. God bless you. Good-by.” In passing the chemist’s shop I glanced in at the clock. It was five minutes faster than my watch. I turned into the High Street at something between a trot and a walk. On entering the station I saw that the London train was ready to depart. The guard had the flag in his hand and the whistle to his lips, about to give the signal. The porters were banging the doors of the carriages. I had yet to buy my ticket. Rushing to the office, I pushed my money through. “’Fraid you won’t get the six-thirty-eight,” said the clerk. I reached the barrier, where the collector was standing, just as the guard blew his whistle. “Too late,” growled the collector, closing the gate in my face with all the impersonal incivility of a man whose action is supported by law. “There’s a lady and a little girl on board,” I panted; “they’re expecting me.” “Sorry,” said the man; “should ’ave got ’ere sooner.” Just then the train began to move and I recognized the uselessness of further argument. As the tail of it vanished out of the station, the collector slid back the gate. Now that there was no danger of my disobeying him, he could afford to be human. “It’s h’orders, yer know, sir, else I wouldn’t ha’ done it.” Friends who had been seeing their travelers off came laughing and chatting toward the barrier. As the crowd thinned, half way down the platform I caught sight of Vi. She was standing apart, with her hand-baggage scattered beside her in disorder. Dorrie was hanging to her skirts, looking up into her face, asking questions. Neither of them saw me. “Hulloa!” When I spoke to her, Vi started. Her eyes brimmed. There shone through her tears a doubtful gladness. “I thought--I thought you wer’n’t coming. I thought----” “Vi dearest! Was that likely?” Her fingers closed about my arm warningly as I called her dearest. She cast a scared look at Dorrie. “Not before her,” she whispered.