New England’s small railroad stations are much alike, the crowds that alight from the trains are much alike, the people waiting on the platform for the arriving travelers are much alike, but there came into Corinth one night a passenger who was not at all like the fellow passengers on that belated train. It was a train from New York, due in Corinth at five-forty, but owing to the extreme cold weather, and various untoward freezings occasioned thereby, the delays were many and long and the train drew into the station shortly after seven o’clock. Tired, hungry and impatient, the travelers crowded out of the train and stamped through the snow to the vehicles awaiting them, or footed it to their nearby homes. The passenger who was unlike the others stepped down from the car platform, and holding her small suitcase firmly, crossed the track and entered the station waiting room. She went to the ticket window but found there no attendant. Impatiently she tapped her little foot on the old board floor but no one appeared. “Agent,” she called out, rapping with her knuckles on the window shelf, “Agent,—where are you?” “Who’s there? What d’y’ want?” growled a surly voice, and a head appeared at the ticket window. “I want somebody to look after me! I’m alone, and I want a porter, and I want a conveyance and I want some information.” “Oh, you do! Well, I can’t supply porters nor yet conveyances; but information I may be able to give you.” “Very well then,” and a pair of big, dark eyes seemed to pierce his very brain. “Then tell me where I can find the best accommodations in Corinth.” The now roused agent looked more interestedly at the inquirer. He saw a mere slip of a girl, young, slender, and very alert of manner. Her dark, grave little face was oval, and her eyes had a strange uncanny way of roving quickly about, and coming suddenly back, greatly disconcerting the stolid ticket agent. This agent was not unused to girls,—a college town is often invaded by hordes of smart young women, pretty girls and gay hoydens. Many Junes he had sold tickets or given information to hundreds of feminine inquirers but none had ever seemed quite like this one. “Best accommodations?” he repeated stupidly. “You heard me, then! About when do you propose to reply?” Still he gazed at her in silence, running over in his mind the various boarding houses, and finding none he thought she’d like. “There’s a rule of the Railroad Company that questions must be answered the same day they’re asked,” she said, witheringly, and picking up her suitcase she started for the door, feeling that any one she might find would know more than this dummy. “Wait,—oh, I say, miss, wait a minute.” “I did,” she said coolly, proceeding to the door. “But,—oh, hold on,—try Old Salt Adams,—you couldn’t do better.” “Where is it?” she deigned to pause a moment, and he replied quickly: “He’s right outside,—hurry up out,—you can catch him!”