There was a loud stamping outside, and the door of the little flag station burst open, letting in a rush of spiteful winter air. “Halloo!” said a boy of about fourteen, muffled to his eyes in fur. “Halloo yourself,” said the boy by the stove, without changing his position more than was necessary to glance up. “Has the six o’clock freight gone down yet?” “Not as I know of; I wish she would be about it; I’ve been waiting on her now an hour after time.” “Lucky for me she is behind, though; I guess I can catch a ride into town on her, can’t I? I’ve been out to Windmere, and missed the five o’clock mail; I set out to foot it, but it is rather rough walking against this wind; especially when you have to walk on ice. I’d rather be toted in on the freight, than to try it. Do you suppose they will give me a lift?” “You can sit down and wait, and try for it, if you like,” and the boy glanced toward a three-legged stool. “I’d give you this chair only it hasn’t any bottom,” he said, with a dreary attempt at a smile. “The stool is all right. Do you have to wait every night for the freight?” “No; not much oftener than every other night; it isn’t my business to wait at all, but as often as three times a week the fellow in charge wants me to do that, or something else, after I’m off duty.” “So you fill up the time with reading; that’s a good idea. What have you here?” The visitor stooped and picked up the fallen books. “Arithmetic and History! You are studying, eh? Well, now, I call that industrious. Where do you go to school?” “Nowhere. I pretend to go to the evening class at the Twenty-third Street Station, and sometimes I get there twice in the week, and sometimes only once. It’s a discouraging kind of studying. I’ve been after one example for two weeks and can’t get it.” “Whereabouts are you? Ho! that old fellow; I remember him. I can show you about it, there’s just a mean little catch to it; but you’ve done well to get so far along.” Then the two heads bent over the book, and over the row of figures on the margin of a freight bill; and presently the face of the discouraged boy lighted with a smile; he saw through the “catch.” Then there was a little talk between the two. Ralph Westwood learned that the boy was an orphan; was working at the freight depot beyond his strength and on very small pay, because times were hard, and boys plenty; that he had a little sister in the Orphans’ Home, and the ambition of his life was to learn, and become a scholar, and earn money to support the little sister. He went to school regularly while mother lived, and worked between times to help support himself; and mother wanted him to be a scholar, and thought it was in him, but she had been dead for two years, and things were growing worse with him, and sometimes he was discouraged. Then the freight came, and Ralph Westwood caught his ride into town, and had only time to say:— “Don’t give it up, Charlie; who knows what may happen? Christmas is coming.”